The Requiem: The World in A Downward Tilt
by K.C. Swansong
Summary: At the University of Melcena, Imperial Princess Sithli of Mallorea discovers an old book and a strange power. Meanwhile, in the West, magic is fading, the orb is failing, monsters are dying, and Ce'Nedra has fallen deathly ill. Are they connected?
1. Chapter One: The University of Melcena

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART ONE: MELCENA_

**Chapter One: The University of Melcena**

Her Imperial Highness, Crown Princess Sithli of Mallorea, only child of Emperor Zakath and Empress Cyradis of the Empire of Mallorea, arrived at the gates of the University of Melcena on the same day that winder did. It was late afternoon, just as the gray daylight began to fade into blue twilight. Behind her brougham, hired in Peldane to bear her the last stage of her journey, the even lanes that led back to the town curved downward over the peak of dim green hill that led down to the town. Before the carriage and pair was the high wooden gate of the university, and in it the gatekeepers grille with its little red shutter, tightly latched.

As Sithli watched from the carriage window, General Atesca got stiffly down from the box to knock at the red shutter. Atesca was not an old man, not yet, but there was gray brindled in his hair, and the marks of long journeys were plain in his bearing.

The offshore wind blew steadily, an edge of frost in it. The coach horses shifted in harness, heads down against the cold. Daylight was failing fast and soon the red shutter would lose its color and fade into the grays of sea, sky, and stone.

Atesca grimaced at the chill and knocked again. As he dropped his hand, the shutter snapped open and a face appeared at the grille. It was a round face, chapped with red, its owner grim at the call out into the weather.

"It's after hours! Who goes there?"

"The Imperial Princess of Mallorea and her escort."

The gatekeeper regarded Atesca for a moment, then looked past him at the brougham and its shifting horses. He eyed Daktor, the weary driver, who had remained on the box, and sneered at Sithli, the only passenger. His face folded into satisfaction. "We have no use for titles here," and closed the shutter.

Atesca let out an irritated breath and knocked again. No answer.

Sithli opened the carriage door. "Let me." She got down from the brougham and joined Atesca at the gate before he could protest.

After a moment the shutter snapped open. "Well."

"My friends I request entrance."

"Your name and business?"

"Too trivial to concern you. I am but a humble acolyte, come to apply for a place at the Melcena University. My imperial father thinks I will prove an apt student."

The gatekeeper regarded her with someone bordering upon amusement for an instant, then clapped the shutter closed. There was a hasty scrape and the wooden gate swung open. Sithli, imperial princess of Mallorea, nodded to Atesca. He looked faintly annoyed as he took her elbow, helped her back into the brougham, and took the seat beside her. Daktor drove the carriage through the university gates.

"If it pleases your highness," Atesca said as the carriage carried them across the expansive lawns of the college. "don't Ido/I that."

"Do what, General?"

General Atesca turned and looked very hard at the Mallorean princess. She was a slender girl with honey gold eyes that had a tendency to lighten when she was angry. The majority of the princess hair was dark mink brown but mixed in were hundreds of strands that were snowy white, which gave the overall mass the strangest frosted look that could barely be described. She'd plaited it and the glossy braid, which he knew would hang all the way to her ankles when unbound, was as thick as his wrist and coiled up into a commoner's knot at the back of her head. She wore a dress of dark blue velvet, belted at the waist, but plain despite its quality make. She looked nothing like an imperial princess and it set Atesca's teeth on edge.

"Grovel."

From the quiet shadows of her side of the brougham the princess smiled at him with barely veiled amusement. "There's a good chance that my title will be all both worthless while I'm a student here. It's terribly hard to be a teacher or tutor if you must constantly 'highness' and 'lady' your pupil. No doubt they dispense with such formality all together. I imagine 'Imperial Highness' will have gone rusty by the time I graduate." Her smile turned a bit more wry. "_If_ I graduate."

"Your highness?" The two little words were spoken like a question, but meant in caution.

"Oh, don't. Let's forget I said anything." She smiled at him winsomely. "Let us pretend I was the enthusiastic song bird. Chirp. Tweet."

In short order Sithli arrived at the main building of the university. Just inside the door, lay a long hall that ended in a flight of stone stairs that ascended upwards into a great hall, furnished only with the simplicity of its design and the fine gray stone of its construction, illuminated by burning torches along the walls. Mindful of the tales of the University of Melcena, Sithli did not try to find another door, nor leave the room. Scholarship at the university concerned not only philosophy and social ingenuity, but the workings of sorcery. It didn't seem wise to meddle beyond the precincts the proctors opened to her willingly.

Night had descended fully when the outer door opened and a young woman of about her own age climbed the stairs to join her. Sithli paused in the pacing she'd begun during the second hour of waiting to inspect the newcomer, who returned her scrutiny with interest.

"You aren't the proctor, are you?" asked the newcomer.

Even in the dim light, Sithli could see the young woman was barefoot and wore a shabby dress, soaked at the hem with melted snow. She was very thin. Her black hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck and her hands were chapped red from the cold. At her wrists blue veins showed through milk pale skin. Despite her apparent poverty, she bore herself with straight backed grace, head high and gaze direct.

"No, I'm Sithli."

"I'm Odile. Are you a student here?"

"No. Are you?"

"Not yet." Odile came towards her across the stone flags. She left bare footprints but seemed untouched by the cold. "I hope to be." She looked around the great room, filled with ruddy orange light. "I was to come this summer but harvest delayed me. I couldn't leave until the crops were in. I hope the proctors understand that."

"They should. Crops are important. Did you have to travel far?"

"From Dal Amba. I walked."

"Oh." Sithli felt a bolt of inferiority. She had come hundred of miles, by horse, by boat, and carriage. There didn't seem to be much virtue in that. Odile had come almost as far, on foot. And why not? This girl wanted to attend the university. Sithli did not. The proctors could hardly honor an agreement with her father if she didn't give them a chance to do so. All se had to do was leave and let Odile have her place at the college. If Atesca insisted she could return the next day when Odile was safely accepted. There was not an unlimited supply of openings for applicants.

Sithli eyed the stairs. As she did, the outer door opened again. This time the newcomer climbed the steps, lantern in hand. With a sweep of velvet the color of the sky outside the great windows, a golden-haired girl of their own age joined Faris and Odile. She wore slippers of the same deep velvet and stepped prudishly around the prints left by Odile's feet. She ignored Sithli and Odile too, and walked straight across the hall to an open door, where firelight shone against the night.

Sithli and Odile exchanged looks.

"Was that door there a moment ago?" asked Odile.

"It's probably been there all along." Sithli sighed glumly.

They followed the girl in the velvet down into the next room, which was full of warmth and golden light, aged tapestries, and a marquetry table with a chair behind it. In the chair sat a plump woman with mouse-gray hair and tired eyes.

"You're the proctor," said the girl in the velvet gown. Her voice was melodius but her intonation made the words an accusation. She put out the lantern and placed it on the floor in front of the table. "I'm Menary Cacoelle."

The proctor put her chin in her hand and gestured at Sithli to close the door. "Stand over there, all three of you. That's better. Winter's just here and I'm already sick to death of drafts."

Unwillingly Menary fell back to stand between Sithli and Odile. Next to Menary's elegance, Odile's provery was manifest, but she did not appear to notice it. She stood with the same proud carriage Menary displayed. Beside them, Sithli stood relaxed but observant. She was well aware that, next to Menary's determination and Odile's dedication, her presence was rather…lesser.

The proctor sighed. "You know there's only one opening left, don't you? Officially, admission closed in the fall."

"My family arranged for me to attend the University of Melcena when I was four years old." Menary spoke with cool superiority.

"Then if I were to ask you to recommend someone for this single opening," said the proctor, "you would choose yourself?"

"Well, of course." Menary glanced at Odile, then at Sithli, then back to the proctor. Her beautiful gray eyes, the exact shade of her velvet gown, narrowed. "Unless it's a trick question."

The proctor stifled a sigh and turned her attention to Odile. "And you?"

Odile's eyes fell. She clasped her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers. "I know I'm late. I couldn't help it. My family needed me."

The proctor inclined her head graciously. "One opening. How would you have us fill it?"

Odile's gaze flew up and hold the proctor's. "Choose me." Her voice was soft but ardent. "Oh, please. Choose me."

Sithli altered her stance so that the toe of her left shoe was visible beneath the hem of her dress. She studied it for a long moment, until the quality of silence in the room told her the proctor had finished staring at Odile and hat started staring at her.

"And you, Sithli of Mallorea?" The proctor sounded very tired. "What have you to say?"

"Good afternoon. I didn't get your name."

The proctor sniffed. "We have one opening. How would you have us fill it?"

Sithli sighed softly. "Choose Menary Cacoelle. Let Odile stay on and scrub floors or something until Menary loses interest and goes home to marry someone better dressed than she it. Then let Odile take the vacancy."

"And what will you do, Sithli?"

"I will go home." Sithli had begun to inspect the toe of her shoe again. "And study from the imperial libraries."

The proctor looked interested. "You'd give your position at the university up, but you profess that your intention is scholastic?"

Sithli smiled some. "My intention…my Ipreference/I is independent study. I have nothing against academics, I simply dislike rigid structure assigned to my education. What I can do here doesn't seem to be much more than I can do in Mallorea—become jaded."

The proctor made no effort to conceal her amusement. "Menary shall have the opening. What do you say to that?"

Sithli's eyes widened as her thoughts raced. If her father could be persuaded to believe in her failure without consulting the proctor himself, she could leave in the morning. She could be home before the turn of the year. She looked from the proctor to Menary, who was triumphant, then to Odile.

"Will you take my advice about Odile?"

"What do you say to her advice, Odile?" asked the proctor.

Odile unclasped her hands and took a step closer to the marquetry table. "A fine idea. But what matters is what you say. Is Sithli accepted?"

The proctor looked more amused. "Despite her best efforts, she is."

"Wait—" Sithli looked from Odile to the proctor and back. "_I'm_ accepted? What about you?"

"What about _me_?" Menary gave Sithli a look of dislike.

"Oh fear not," said the proctor. "You're both accepted. Along with the students who came on time. Allow me to introduce you to Odile Braneis. She is in her second year here."

"I'm glad that's settled." Menary remarked.

Sithli slanted Odile a cool stare and spaced her words out deliberately. "Oh, please. Choose me."

"Contemptable, isn't it." Odile replied affably. "I did walk here though, a year ago."

"Did they make you scrub the floors?"

"They made me wear shoes." She pulled the ribbon from her hair, shook her head, and let her black hair go free around her shoulders. "I humored them. Don't worry, you'll learn to humor them too."

"Do they make you relive your dramatic past for every applicant?"

Odile shook her head. "I volunteered. Your father's efforts to assure your admission made you sound fairly odious. Your arrival, however, disproved the impression—your imperial highness."

"I knew that would rankle."

Menary looked bored.

Sithli sighed deeply. "My father is going to be very pleased about this."

"He should be," said the proctor. "He was extremely resilient on the matter of your attendance. Perhaps he fondly remembers his time here."

"Perhaps." Sithli turned to the proctor. "I'd like to send words to my traveling companions. I don't have much baggage but I need to collect it from them before they return to Mallorea."

"Your bodyguards will be notified." Said the proctor. "Perhaps they can also convey your father's letter of credit back to Mallorea."

"Oh the bribe—" Sithli shook her head. "Don't do that."

The proctor's brow lifted. "Aren't they trustworthy?"

"General Atesca and Goodman Daktor are some of my father's most trusted men. All the same, you should really keep the money."

"Hardly," exclaimed the proctor. "The University of Melcena would be perceived as having taken a bribe."

Sithli smiled gently. "The damage is done. You've accepted me. No one will think for an instant I got in on merit alone. This way, if my father is ever late paying school fees, the university needn't be inconvenienced."

"We could hold it in escrow, I suppose." The proctor looked amused. "Merely a formality, of course."

"Of course." It was a small thing, probably something her father wouldn't even notice, but it made her feel a bit better.


	2. Chapter Two: At The University

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART ONE: THE UNIVERSITY OF MELCENA_

**Chapter Two**

With Odile's help, Sithli made her way into the pattern of life at the University of Melcena. She followed the steep staircases and winding corridors from lesson to lesson: grammar, logic, rhetoric, natural history, natural philosophy, language, geometry, astronomy, and half a dozen others. The sheer amount of work would have overwhelmed her if she'd felt obligated to do any of it. But she had noticed with relish that no one seemed to care what she did or when she did it. Within the confined of the university, she was quite free.

"No one expects anything of new students," Odile confided, over the evening meal at the end of Sithli's first day of classes. "If you turn your work in promptly, you'll be all right."

Sithli refrained from mentioning that she had no intention of turning work in, promptly or otherwise. "But what if it isn't finished?"

"Turn it in anyway."

What Sithli liked best about the University of Melcena was that no one paid her the least attention. She took Odile's advice about keeping to herself. Also on Odile's recommendations, Sithli cut classes judiciously and used the free time to make up her work as it was called in and graded. The first lecture of the day was the only event that required attendance. There was far too much work assigned in each class to make attendance at all of them possible.

Sithli's fellow students at first had given her the impression of high intelligence and strange intensity. Even slight familiarity taught her that this impression was, if not entirely mistaken, sadly incomplete. In fact, her fellow students were simply exhausted and overworked. Fatigue and anxiety took strange forms.

One day in the dining hall, Sithli sat across the table from a first-year student who stared blankly at the single artichoke on the plate before her.

"That looks good," Sithli had observed. The artichokes had vanished before she'd arrived and she cherished a faint hope that her classmate disliked them, perhaps enough to barter for it.

"Extremely good," agreed the first-year, dashing Sithli's hopes. Wearily she added, "if only I could remember how to eat one."

The only class given in instruction of sorcery took place in a lecture each morning given by the Dean herself and was known simply as "The Structure of the Universe". It was theoretical in the extreme, but it was all the university offered--aside from the far more experimental alchemy. Sithli listened half attentively to the Dean's instruction and attempted to sketch the armillary spheres used to model the celestial order.

It puzzled Sithli, at first, that the students were neither encouraged to study sorcery outside the Structure lectures nor permitted to practice it at any time. She decided that the rule was meant to prevent students from discovering there was no magic at the university to learn. Every student knew that whether or not sorcery existed within the gates of the college, it was exceedingly rare outside.

* * *

After a span of just a few shorts weeks, Sithli felt the first prick of homesickness. As it turned out, it was not an uncommon or untimely ailment. One student got so homesick; he stopped Sithli in the corridor for no better reason than the embroidery on her shirtwaist.

"Pardon me." The student, a boy who was taller than Sithli by half a foot, glanced down at the fine embroidery, snow white on the snow white of her blouse. "That's Murgo white-work, isn't it? Have you come from Cthol Murgos?"

"You have excellent vision," Sithli replied politely. She eyed the boy a moment, slightly taken aback. "I've never been to Cthol Murgos. This was a gift."

"Oh."

Something in the flatness of the boy's tone softened Sithli's reserve slightly. "Have you been to Cthol Murgos?"

The boy smiled at her soberly. "I'm from Cthol Murgos. I haven't been back since I came to college five months ago. And please, don't look so shocked." He added quickly, seeing the surprise that appeared briefly on Sithli's face. "I'm honestly somewhat a disappointment as a Murgo, so I've gleaned from many of my elders. It has something to do with changing times and generations, I think."

"You've come here to get better, then?" She retorted dryly. The boy looked slightly different than the Murgos Sithli had seen before. The features were there—in his eyes and certainly in the very dark coloring of his hair, but his face had a unique shape. His chin was slightly pointed and he had a rather long nose that ended in more of a point than a curve.

His smile became less sober. "Something like that. Prejudice and ignorance has been becoming less popular in Cthol Murgos in the last decade. I assume my purpose here is to research another way to survive those long, boring winters. Particularly since we've stopped picking fights with Mallorea. A regretful loss of a good squabble—or so I've heard."

"I'm Mallorean."

"I see." His face went very serious and he gave her a long look across the distance separating them. "Did you want to fight any?"

"Armed or bare handed?"

"Neither. I forfeit." He grinned at her and that was another surprise. As far as she'd always assumed from her readings, Murgos did not grin. Not with that kind mirthful candor. "I'm a terrible coward. My name is Urgar. Were you going to lunch?"

The philosopher Ardower occupied Sithli through the next week. By that time, mid winter had set in and classes had moved on to more advanced topics. Sithli began to discover that there was more to being a student at the University of Melcena than studying, sleeping, and complaining about the food. And there was more to being Urgar's friend, she learned, than marveling over his unorthodox demonstration of cultural difference. Urgar's acquaintance was shockingly wide, his friends drawn from every year. There was wide-eyed Malden, a newly arrived student from the village on the coast of the Melcene empire. There was calm Eridis, from Dal Zerba, who would probably take her comprehensives with record high marks, and even more probably stay to lecture at the university in years to come. And there were Airi and Nathalie, third year students who spent almost as much time slacking off as Sithli. Nathalie, Sithli recognized. She was the girl who had been so tired she'd forgotten how to eat artichokes.

It was Nathalie who revealed Urgar's real identity to her, one afternoon while Sithli was sitting in dining hall with the third year girl and the soft spoken Eridis.

"My family owns a great deal of property in the Melcene empire," the girl was explaining, while she spread butter generously on a steaming dinner roll. "but we don't have any formal titles, so the casualty that they treat rank with here wasn't all that startling for me. One of the other girls in my year though, she's a duchess and for months she would bristle with outrage every time someone spoke to her without using 'your grace'. It would be easier to have sympathy for students like her, but then you compare them to others like Urgar who looks pained even you even look like you're going to 'your highness' him."

Sithli had looked up from chasing a pea around the outer edge of her platter, eyes flying to the older girl. "Your highness?"

Nathalie looked back, shrugging slightly. "Well he's the crown prince of Cthol Murgos, you know. Although you wouldn't know it. He seems so self effacing and giddy."

"That's all an act." Eridis said in her voice like flute music. She'd been listening politely to Nathalie speak but hadn't spoken herself until just then. "He's actually very clever and very ambitious. But those are dangerous traits for a ruler so he hides them behind flippancy and caprice."

"If that's so, isn't it just as dangerous for you to be revealing his true face?" Sithli pointed out.

"We're all friends. I'm sure none of us will do anything untoward." Gentle Eridis gave them both a very stern look that was startling considering her disposition.

With quick insight, Sithli realized that petite Dalasian girl was in love with Urgar. A smile made the edges of her mouth curl up and her eyes danced. She felt a bubble of hilarity settle in her chest. Nathalie was just as quick and, to judge from her similar smile, had come to same conclusion as Sithli. Eridis caught their dual smiles and she sighed, in a long suffering fashion, and looked away.

Airi approached their table and looked down at the three of them quizzically. "What's so amusing?"

"Ladies' things." Nathalie replied with deliberately flippancy.

Airi looked pained. "I wondered why Malden was seated at the other end of the hall." And went to join the other boy's table.

Later that evening Sithli went looking for Urgar. After a brief visit to the boys' dormitory she was pointed towards the library. She found the Murgo boy seated at one of the polished goldenwood tables, pouring over a large book bound in ruddy brown leather.

"_Prince_ Urgar?"

His head came up and he made a face at her, closing the volume he'd been scribbling notes in. "Oh, don't do that."

"You didn't mention you were the son of the King of Cthol Murgos. When you told me were from Cthol Murgos I assumed you meant Verkat or Rak Cthaka or one of those other islands."

"Rak Cthaka isn't an island." He corrected with an even tone. "It's a peninsula. I didn't assume that my title would be all that important here. Besides, I don't usually go around announcing I'm the next king of the Murgos off handedly when I'm not in the midst of two or three hundred armed guards. It's the sort of thing that can get you a knife in the back."

"I can't imagine that's a legitimate fear here. And don't snipe at me for my shocking geography." Sithli added. "If it isn't the Empire, it's all the same to me: Rak Cthaka, Cthan, Goska. You really can't expect me to keep all those little provinces straight. I'm not ignorant, just Mallorean."

"Can you tell a peninsula from an island?"

"Don't sulk, it's not becoming." She looked him square in the face. "My father's name is Zakath."

"Oh? Oh!" He looked startled and then, without warning, he began to laugh. He continued to laugh until someone at a nearby table turned and shushed him firmly, their expression grim and offended. "My father's been terrified of your father for years." He sighed and smiled at her. "I suppose we really _should_ fight now."

"I suppose we should." Sithli agreed, but she was smiling back.

Before they could say anymore the silence of the library was interrupted by the sound of voices calling their names. From the little topiary garden outside the library, merry voices called until Sithli unlatched the nearest window and swung it wide. The winter night air fluttered the pages of Urgar's other open books and he shoved them aside and joined her at the window. Sithli ignored the icy breeze and the cold looks from the other students in the reading room and leaned out into the darkness. The light from the library's green shaded lamps reached far enough to show her four upturned faces, hardly more than pale masks in the gloom, but she recognized Nathalie, Malden, Eridis, and Airi.

It was not merely their voices she recognized, nor their relative heights, nor the attitudes they struck, with their batsleeved academic gowns rustling around them. It was their immense gaiety that betrayed them, their blithe confidence that hailing Urgar and her from studies at just this particular moment was the best and most hilarious thing they had yet contrived to do. From the geometrically neat garden below, four voices rose in wobbly harmony:

_Time's my constant mistress  
__And the untamed space my marrow;  
__The flaming drake, and the night child make  
__Seed and flower of my sorrow_

"_The universe is full of noise,_" called Urgar, trying not to laugh.

Behind them in the reading room, throats were cleared, papers were shuffled, books were slammed on desks. A cross voice called, "Some of us are trying to study!"

The harmony struggled on, half submerged at times by stifled laughter.

_With a host of chosen scions  
__Whereof the rose is commander;  
__With a burning sphere, and a horse of air  
__To the wilderness they wander_

"Some of us are trying not to freeze to death," the cross voice called again. "Close the window!"

Sithli marveled for a moment at what kind of life these strict scholars must have led to make them so indifferent to the thread of song from the garden. She had never dreamed college would hold anything half so dear to her. Perhaps it was different when the song was for someone else.

"_While the prince and dreaming princess_" Urgar sang as he climbed out of the window and jumped feet first into the garden. "_Summoned are to tourney; Ten millennia beyond the wide world's end; Methinks it is no journey_."

Sithli followed after him, narrowly missing the topiary as her dropped into the white snow that blanketed the garden.

Nathalie said, "Just yesterday you told me you didn't understand conic sections, yet here we find you, trying to make yourself into one." She and Malden helped Sithli up and brushed the snow off her skirts. Eridis made sure the topiary was not damaged.

"What are you singing?" Sithli asked she shook snow off her braid.

"A hymn we found in an old book we found in the lecture hall. Though we've embellished some and forgotten more." Nathalie replied. Then she turned her face up towards the open library window. "Tee-hee quod she and clapped the window to." Before she'd even finished speaking, someone slammed the window firmly shut. Nathalie looked satisfied. "Thank you!"

Airi picked up the song again as they left the garden:

_I know more than the anima  
__For oft when they lie sleeping  
__I behold the stars, at mortal wars  
__And the rounded welkin weeping _

* * *

It had been almost three months since her arrival at the University of Melcena and it was then late winter when she received her first visitor.

She'd gone to Theory of Law that morning and had decided to skip her next class and return to her rooms to catch up on the sleep she'd missed while delving into a particularly interesting topic in the way of astronomy. Her visitor was waiting for her when she climbed the stairs up to her little room in the female dormitory. He'd seated himself at the desk the university provided in each room and was admiring a wax carving of an Algarian mare. He looked up when she entered and the smile he gave was as bright as the glowing nimbus of light that surrounded him.

"Eriond." She recognized, shutting the door behind her with a gentle click. "I was wondering how long it would be before you came to visit me. I was starting to think you were two busy." She stared at the young looking god, savoring the old familiarity that his presence brought her. Eriond had been a presence in her life for as long as she could remember. To her, he was like a gentle uncle or older brother—he just happened to also be divine. "You're glowing."

"I've gotten use to it. It's not really all that bad, glowing." He smiled at her, that smile of absolute love, and set down the wax figure. "Your father sends his congratulations on your admission."

"I was almost certain he would. How's mother?"

"Cyradis is the same as usually, of course. She sends her love, but she has her own way of keeping an eye on you."

The Horse God's voice had taken on that respectful, affectionate quality that Sithli noticed it always had when he talked about her mother. She knew why, of course. Sithli had read the accounts of the last twenty years. They had been compiled by a Mallorean historian named Mordant. Her mother had also arranged for her to have a copy of the memoirs of Belgarath the Sorcerer and of Lady Polgara the Sorceress. And she had bombarded her mother often for stories of the prophecies and the necessities. It was strange still to imagine the fact that her quiet, gentle mother had once been the focal point of the entire universe. Although she was suppose to have lost her seer abilities, now that her purpose had been fulfilled, it had been proven that Cyradis still had an uncanny ability for obtaining impossible information.

"Is there very much news from Mallorea?"

"A bit, if you'd like to hear it."

"I would." She replied eagerly, but smiled regretfully. "But I'm absolutely exhausted just now. It's unforgivable rude of me, but would it be very inconvenient if we talked longer after I took a brief nap?"

Eriond smiled at her, looking amused. "Go ahead and sleep Sithli. I'll be here when you wake."


	3. Chapter Three: Things From Home

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART ONE: MELCENA_

**Chapter Three: Things From Home**

Several hours later, Sithli sat freshly bathed and nibbling from a bowl of fruit while she listened to Eriond give her news of her parents and of her homeland.

"Zakath has managed to secure Mal Yaska and Ashaba. Not so much that he wants to pull all his troops out. He's left garrisons of soldiers in both cities, but this victory means they've successfully toppled the last of the Dragon Cult's strongholds." Eriond was explaining patiently.

Mention of the Dragon Cult always set Sithli's teeth on edge. The group had come centerfold around her fourth year of age. Backwater things who were resistant against the change in theology, in tradition, in culture, and in the world in general. They preferred war with the east rather than the peace that had been moving over both the east and western nations like a mantle for the last two decades or so. Ironically they'd derived the ideal of cultism from an equally backwater conception that had been prominent in the western regions; those of Aloria who followed the bear god, Belar. Sithli's vendetta against them, however, was more than political. When she was ten years old the cult, furious about the Malloreon emperor's choice of wife, had made an attempt to assassinate the empress, her mother. The attempt had been unsuccessful and the assassin captured and punished personally by the emperor himself, but ever since that time the very mention of the Dragon Cult made Sithli see red for just a few seconds before she regained her composure. She could still recall the awful image of that dagger blade descending all to close to her mother's neck…

"He's preparing to expand into Karanda now. Tentatively at first, in order to gauge their reactions. The Karands aren't all _that_ reasonable and it's hard to get them to behave in a rational fashion, but that'll change. One day. I'm not fond of force, but talking to them about their unfortunate habits won't be enough I'm afraid."

"I honestly think father prefers it that way." Sithli confessed with a thoughtful tip of her head. She'd washed her hair and the strange colored locks frizzed and waved as they dried. "He's suspicious of those who convert too quickly. Completely changing your faith shouldn't be that easy, he believes. Perhaps because it was so difficult for him."

"That's a complex theory." Eriond complimented her.

Sithli smiled. "I've been taking psychology courses." She admitted. Granted, she hadn't gone to many of them but she had done the reading and turned in the assignments, completed or close to. "Since we're talking about relations between the eastern kingdoms." She went on. "The crown prince of Cthol Murgos is also a student here."

"Prince Urgar."

"You know him?" Sithli asked startled. Although it shouldn't have. It made sense that Eriond would be familiar with the ruling familiars of other Angarak nations. All the same she felt a swift stab of jealousy and the idea that she had not been exclusively the recipient of his royal familiarity. It was silly. Eriond was a god and as such his love was limitless and universal, but whoever said that jealousy was rational.

"I've dropped in on the Urgas family from time to time." He said casually and gave her a knowing smile that made Sithli feel just a bit embarrassed. "King Urgit and I are old friends."

"If I had known I would have invited Urgar to join us. We've become friends. Rather, he's the core of my entire social group here at the university. He's outrageously popular. And strange for a Murgo."

"I've noticed that myself." Eriond agreed.

"Is his father like that too?" Sithli wondered. "I mean, I've read history books and heard stories. Malloreans and Murgos use to be grave enemies until about sixteen years ago. There still seems to be animosity between the people, however, even if there's peace on paper."

"Urgar and his family are very much like Zakath and yours. A ruler is in a different position than his people and he understands more. Not to mention Urgit and Zakath have a knowledge of events that their peoples don't. Racial discrimination won't last forever. If anything, time with breed it out. Even the oldest disputes settle. Look at Arendia, although it took them several thousand years."

Sithli perked noticeably at the mention of Arendia and her eyes became very hungry. "Since you brought up the west," she broached, dragging her thumb nail across the surface of a dark purple grape idly. "how are our friends in that direction? Beldaran and I have been writing to each other, but I haven't gotten a letter in some months."

Eriond smiled at her happily. "They're well. Beldaran caught a bad chill this winter, but she's recovering quickly. She intends to write you in the next week."

"I'm glad she's better." Sithli said heartfelt as she thought about the small Rivan princess with her honey blonde hair and huge green eyes. Although half a world a way she and Beldaran had been very good friends, ever since they first met during an imperial visit to Aloria when Sithli had been five years old. "How are the others?"

"Geran is spending time with his cousins in Tolnedra. Things have been very quiet on the Isle of Winds, but he needs the chance to experience political turbulence in order to learn how to deal with it. The disputes between the great houses will give him a bit of exposure. Ce'dana, Xerell, and Polxene are well, although Xerell also caught her sister's winter illness. Perhaps because they both spend so much time outdoors. Queen Ce'Nedra is pregnant again. She's due for mid autumn. Polgara and Durnik are still down in the Vale with Garrick and Danor. Belgarath and Poledra have been spending time up in the mountains."

"What are they doing up there?"

"They visited the Ulgos for a while. Poledra stayed with them for quite some time a while back, so she's very fond of Ulgos. And the new Gorim is the son of a friend of theirs so they dropped in to see how things they were. Then they headed out to the forests. Just for the sake of going, really. After years of _having_ to go from one place to another for a specific reason, I imagine the simple pleasure in going where one wishes for no purpose at all is much greater than it is for normal people."

Sithli filed that piece of introspection away for use in her psychology glass. They talked for a bit longer, primarily about Sithli's studies. She imagined he was saving the information in order to recount to her father, so Sithli embellished her work shamelessly and prudently decided not to mention her neglect of certain aspect. Then, an hour or so before night fall, Eriond departed to return to Mallorea.

The visit had kept her in her room for a large portion of the day, so she gathered up her books and relocated to one of the study rooms. She met Malden on the way and the two of them took up occupance in number five study where Sithli settled in to read _The Pearl Master's Garden_ while Malden preformed prodigies of mathematics to present to his professor the next morning. The sun had been set for an hour or two when there was a knock at the door and Malden admitted Urgar and Eridis into the room. Sithli looked up from her book as Urgar brought Eridis around the table and sad her down in Malden's chair.

"Now," Urgar said gently, but firmly. "tell them what you told me."

"Nathalie went down into the town." Eridis said obediently. "I couldn't stop her."

Sithli and Malden exchanged a glance of concern and then Malden looked back at their friend. "After curfew?"

Helplessly, Eridis lifted her hands. "She's been getting more and more homesick lately. She keeps going on about the scent of pine in the frosty air and the open valley. She missed the small of Akavit too. Some sailor promised to sell her a bottle of the stuff, if she came to fetch is this evening. I caught her as she was sneaking out of the dormitory and made her tell me where she was going, but I couldn't stop her."

"So she came to me and I thought we should all be informed." Urgar said casually, the same we he said most everything. He glanced at Malden first and Sithli wondered if he'd primarily been looking for the other, larger boy and she had just happened to be there when he found him. Urgar swung his attention to her. "Do you find that book absorbing?"

"Young Argul's all right," Sithli replied, "but on the whole, no. Are we to go a-roving?"

"It would be awfully slack of us to stay in, I suppose." Urgar agreed.

Malden was looking at Eridis. "Where was Nathalie supposed to meet this sailor?"

"At a tavern. Some place called The Happy Wench."

Sithli made a face. "Isn't that just revolting."

Eridis nodded her agreement. Urgar and Malden were suspiciously quiet and both boys had taken a sudden rapt interest in the carpet.

Work discarded, Urgar led Sithli, Eridis, and Malden out of number five study, down a crooked staircase, over a window sill, and into the night. It was cloudless, with moon enough to cast shadows.

Between the dormitory and the Cordelion towers, as the Eridis climbed through the window, Sithli paused beside Urgar and forgot anxiety over Nathalie and worry about breaking curfew in her delight with the darkness. Since she had arrived at the university, Sithli had not been outside the confines of the school at night without a reliable escort. By every measure Sithli had ever heard of, her companions failed to qualify as a reliable escort. She drew a deep breath, savoring the chill of the evening, the scent of the sea, and her unaccustomed freedom. When the others joined her, Urgar led them through the Dean's garden, where an oak tree provided means to cross the college wall. In short order they were away from the university and moving through the streets of the city.

"This is the place." Eridis said as the came upon a run down tavern near the harbor. Light from the windows through golden squares of light on the dark streets and the noise from inside was raucous. A faded sign swung in the sea breeze above the door. The 'Happy' had faded into the wood so it was no longer discernable and only the word 'Wench' could be made out now.

Inside, The Happy Wench was not all that different from The White Fleece, back home. A bit smaller, much dirtier, it held a few wooden tables flanked with benches. On one side of the room was a spacious fireplace, where dying embers cast enough light to give the room a sullen glow. At the far end of the room stood a sailor with a dark green bottle in one hand, and in the other, Nathalie's wrist.

At the sight of her rescuers, Nathalie went wide eyed with relief and then glared at the sailor. "Now you _have_ to let me go."

Malden advanced inside and Sithli and Eridis stayed in the doorway as Urgar crossed immediately to the fireplace and helped himself to the poker from the rack of the tolls beside the hearth. Without haste, he put more wood on the fire and then stirred the coals judiciously.

"Aquavit is filthy stuff, Nat," Sithli said. "You'd best come with us."

Nathalie tossed her sheaf of golden hair angrily. "He won't let me go."

Urgar left the fireplace and advanced towards Nathalie and the sailor, poker at his side. Carefully he said, "Let Nathalie go." The words sounded natural enough, but Sithli recognized the casual way he was holding the poker as not so flippant as it seemed.

Sithli heard her voice as if it belonged to someone else. "Nathalie, move!"

At that moment the blonde girl twisted aside. She and Eridis rushed forward. The sailor pushed Nathalie into them and brought his bottle down hard on the edge of the table. A crash, a thick scent of caraway and raw spirit, and the broken neck of the bottle was steady in his hand. Eridis made a sound of alarm. Urgar was already on guard. Before the sailor stepped towards him, he lunged. The tip of the poker caught him on the breast bone with a noise like thumping a melon. The sailor staggered but slipped aside. Glass glinted as he slashed. Urgar parried with a blow that snapped bone. The sailor dropped the bottle and fell to his knees, cursing.

"Go." Urgar ordered them and they retreated.

They did not get far. Benches scrapped against the wooden floor as a group of six men stood up. One went to check on the sailor while the others faced the little group with narrowed gazes.

"I hope you're ready to make amends for the damage done to our friend there. One of you will have to be tending to his every need." He leered at the group and then, quick as lightening, grabbed Eridis by the wrist and dragged her forward. "This one I think. Pretty little--"

He didn't get further. They had all forgotten about Malden. The man holding Eridis looked quite shocked at the blade that suddenly sprouted from his shoulder. He howled in pain, releasing the door to clutch at the skewered arm. Malden skipped out of the way of his lumber gait, circling around to join the rest of them. He exchanged approving, half grinning expressions with Urgar. Three men rushed the two boys and Urgar and Malden surged forward to meet them.

Sithli was dragging Nathalie, who had burst into tears, towards the door as she searched the crowd for Eridis, who had disappeared. Their way was immediately hindered by another of the sailors. Finding her facing him, he drew a sword from his belt and brandished it, revealing, brown teeth in a leering grin. Sithli placed herself between the man and the weeping girl, eying the deadly edge of his weapon.

"Sithli!" Eridis's voice was an angry snap from her left and she tossed a pair of kitchen knives in Sithli's direction.

She plucked them from the air as the sailor lunged with his sword. She jumped out of the way, shoving Nathalie towards the door. The man stumbled passed her, his unprotected back in her sights. Sithli felt a bubble of hilarity building up in her chest. Some of her reckless delight was till with her and this did not seem the appropriate place to feel delighted. She snapped her wrist and the knives left her fingers. One sailed through his boot and into the foot it protected, burying mid way to the hilt. The other slid past, though not into, his hand. The edge sheared skin away. The sailor cursed, dropping the sword from his injured hand and dropped low against his skewered foot.

"Are you alright?" Malden asked. He and Urgar had crossed the floor to them quickly, picking over the littered bodies of the sailors as they came. Urgar's sleeve had been slashed open and his arm was bleeding, but he looked otherwise unscathed.

The last of their assailants had been discarded of. There was a man bleeding at her feet and Sithli was hard pressed to disguise her revulsion. He was cursing, fluently and violently and with terms that made her want to cover his mouth with her hands. Sithli reminded herself that she was a string of pearls and fell into the perfectly balanced posture that Dame Brachet had taught her. She was feeling a bit wrung out now; as if, like a sponge, she'd been filled to the brim with something substantial and then emptied.

The sharp nosed prince had glanced at the swearing sailor and then at Sithli in some surprise. "Nice work."

In the aftermath, Eridis was doing what she did best and taking command of restoring order, straightening all the little things up. Nathalie had begun to sniffle slightly. Eridis picked the poker up from the floor and pressed it into the girl's hands. "Put this back on the fireplace." She turned and put her arm around Nathalie's shoulders and shook the crying girl gently. "Idiot."

"I know." Said Nathalie, hanging her head.

Malden produced a flawlessly clean handkerchief and gave it to Nathalie. Someone had come to help drag the wounded sailor from the floor and Urgar went to retrieve the knives, frowning at the blood stains on them. He picked up a rag from the table and wiped the blade clean. Watching made Sithli just a bit ill from memory.

"Let's go outside." Eridis suggested, apparently noticing Sithli's wan color. "We'll wait out there for the gentlemen."

Eridis led them out into the cool night as Urgar was returning the knives to the tavern keeper and making apologies. In short order Urgar and Malden emerged from inside the tavern and they began the stealthy trek back up to the university. Under the oak tree they paused.

"Nathalie first." Sithli whispered to Urgar and he nodded. Malden had gone over to the other side of the wall already, so that he could help them down once they were over the side.

Urgar helped Nathalie up into the rustling branches of the tree and then Eridis. Then he turned to Sithli, but the sound of footsteps from around the side of the wall made them freeze in their tracks and their blood ran cold. Both went very still and the murmur of voice, the words indiscernible, reached them. It seemed like a rustle I the night or a dull static that filled her ears. A vast curiosity made her legs twitch.

"I'm going to look." Sithli whispered to Urgar. He made a sound of protest but was too late. She slipped off nibbling into the night, rounding the university wall.

She heard noise behind her, but didn't see Urgar when she glanced back along the unlit lanes. The voices were nearer, but Sithli still couldn't make out words. If it was just a simple group of Melcenes, out late, there would be nothing to worry about. But if it was the university administrators or the guards, it would be best if she turned herself in. It would save her friends. At best she'd get a scolding and at worst she'd be sent home, which would be awfully ironic considering how she'd fought against coming in the first place.

Another corner was rounded and she froze abruptly. A street lamp illuminated an alley wall just across the lane, throwing a pair of shadows into sharp relief against the stone. The curve and length of hair suggested female, but the lines of the silhouette suggested men's garb. The voices were intelligible now. There were two of them, both female and fairly young.

"Once upon a time, there was a great king," one was saying.

"A great king." The other agreed.

Sithli crouched down her eyes going wide. They sounded like players. Was there a performance going on? But why so late? Maybe they were simply practicing. The voices had a strange sort of melody to them, that made her feel dreamy and tired. She listened on, forgetting her danger.

"However one day a great blow was struck upon the body of the king. So great a blow was it that it left a mighty wound upon the king."

"And the wound split the king's heart in two and it fell right out of his chest. And one half of his heart was carried off by an owl and the other by fearsome dragon."

"And yet the wound did not bring the king peace of death. Instead he was injured and divided as the wound festered."

"But what happens!? What happens to a wound that is left to fester? Do you know?"

"It must be patched!" The other responded. "One must go and patched the wound."

"One must go and patch the wound." The first echoed. "A hundred millennia beyond end of the world. It'll be quite a journey…."

"Sithli!" She jumped nearly out of her skin when she felt the hand on her arm and someone calling her name in her ear. Listening to the conversation had Her head snapped around to face Urgar, who was out of breath and breathing heavily. "What are you doing!" He practically screamed at her.

"The voices. They were players." She said, pointing towards the alley. But the light had gone out and both the shadows and the voices had vanished.

"Come on." Urgar said, ignoring her bewilderment and tugging on her arm. He'd reduced his voice to a murmur again. "The others are worried. We need to get back."

She let him drag her back down the lane that she'd come. One look was cast over her shoulder back at the alleyway, but the darkness from that direction was complete and she saw only the black shape of a cat, disappearing across the rooftops.


	4. Chapter Four: Through A Letter, Darkly

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART ONE: MELCENA_

**Chapter Four: Through A Letter, Darkly**

Dame Villette stopped Sithli after the first lecture the next day. "The Dean asked me to send you to his office."

Sithli winced painfully. Did the Dean know everything that happened within the gated of the university? She cast what she hoped was a believable bewildered look at Dame Villette. "Do you know why?"

"No, but I'm sure he will mention it at some point in your conversation." The woman reply, arching her eyebrow shrewdly. "Come to see me when she's finished with you."

That was rather ominous. Sithli left the lecture hall reluctantly. Had someone told the authorities that she had broken curfew? Or did the authorities know things without the need to be told? All the way to the Dean's office, Sithli expected to encounter Urgar or Nathalie or another fellow culprit. She had the feeling she ought to be riding a tumbrel. Instead, she walked the maze of corridors alone, climbed the stairs alone, and finally stood alone before the Dean's desk.

The Dean, a man of formidable height in his fifties, with a glint of steel in his manner, did not look up from his work. It was tempting to steal a glance around the book-lined room, but Sithli kept her attention focused on the Dean instead. Finally, he put down his pen.

"I've received a letter, Sithli Of Mallorea. I want to know the meaning of it." He selected a sheet of parchment from the stack before him and held it up. His dark eyes fixed on Sithli's face. "Have you blackmailed many of your classmates into doing your work for you, or is Menary Cacoelle your first attempt?"

Sithli felt her jaw drop. It took her a long moment to recall why the name was familiar. It belonged to that well dressed girl who arrived the same winter evening she had, months ago. The one with the haughty attitude and the blonde hair. After a long moment of stunned silence she managed to say, "I beg your pardon?" with only one stammer.

The Dean's expression eased slightly. "Or was it inadvertent?" He held the letter out to Sithli.

She took the letter, read it through once, then a second time, and finally looked up at the Dean, shocked. "I never threatened her. I've never spoken to her directly at all, in fact."

The Dean looked skeptical. "But you know her?"

Sithli wondered how much she should say. A lie might be prudent, but the truth was easily found out and then things would only be more incriminating. "She arrived late for the semester." She confessed. "The same time that I did. We were interviewed by the proctor together. Along with a third girl, Odile, although Odile presence was merely a ruse."

"And you've not encountered her since then."

"We have classes which we are both in." Sithli said cautiously. "But we've never exchanged glances let alone words or threats. I hadn't even remembered her name and face until you mentioned it just now. I certainly didn't think she'd recall mine."

"Then do you know why she'd make this kind of accusation?"

Sithli shook her head helplessly. Her surprise had subsided and been replaced with a deep indignance and anger. Menary Cacoelle. "I may have," she amended. "said something during the interview with the proctor that she might have taken offense with, though she didn't seem to care much at the time." But Sithli certainly didn't think that warranted retaliation of this sort. Blackmail and plagiarism were grounds for expulsion and then some.

The Dean looked slightly amused. "Yes, I'd heard that you'd behaved in a most obstinate fashion during the interview." Sithli coughed and tried not to look guilty. The Dean sighed and laid the letter back on the desk. "Well we have no proof to support either of your claims so we can't take any serious action either way; neither for blackmail nor deception. All the same, your work is going to be monitored from now on. Your recent submissions are currently being reviewed by your tutors as well. In the mean time, I'd advise keeping distance from Menary Cacoelle."

Sithli choked on her outrage, forcing it back down. Her lips were pressed tightly together. She knew it could be worse. It could have been much worse. She started to leave.

"One more thing." The Dean's dark eyes narrowed. His voice turned cold and crisp. "If I ever hear you gamboling about my garden again, on your way in or out of bounds, I will send you back to your father for good. Is that clear?"

Sithli froze.

"And teach your friends not to call you by name when they're trying to be stealthy. It's bad strategy. Now, go on."

When Sithli had left the morning lecture to go see the Dean, the sky was leaden. By the time she left the Dean's office a light rain was falling. She took the long way from the office to Dame Vilette, mostly to avoid getting wet and partly to regain her calm. By the time she walked through the north hall and into the cloister garden it was raining hard. She paused in the eastern arcade of the cloister garden and leaned against one of the cold gray columns.

Before her lay the neat square of the garden, punctuated with a central fountain of white marble, its shallow stone basin empty except for a few yellow leaves. Abandoned to a winter that was passing, the garden lay fallow under the icy rain. Glad of the quiet, Sithli lingered.

She didn't like having enemies that she didn't know about. Aside from her little group, she'd kept exclusively to herself at the university. In many respects she was very much like her father in the fact that she found it unnecessary to surround herself with people. She preferred a small and close group to an entire court, even if, eventually, she'd have to preside over one.

Sithli thought back to her interview with Menary in her velvet dress and her selfish, impatient demeanor. It had seemed to Sithli that her primary concern had been admission to her university. As she'd claimed, her parents had supposedly been grooming her for it. She had seemed to Sithli waspish and certainly cutthroat, but not petty. So why the attempt to get Sithli in trouble with the Dean? Or had it been more than trouble? Did she want Sithli expelled?

Although she'd settled nicely into life at the university she did not find the prospect of returning home to be entirely unpleasant. She objected only to being forced to go and not leaving of her own will.

Without closing her eyes Sithli thought of Mallorea. Instead of gray pillars she saw the high walls dividing the city districts at Mal Zeth. Instead of the tidily staked gardens she could see the Dalasian mountains rising in the south and the rush of the Raku river to the east. Sky of the same iron gray would bring snow, not rain, and there would be frost in the ground underfoot, a taste of ice in the wind.

As if in answer to her thoughts, Rain slowed. It did not fall less steadily. Only, as Sithli watched, the rain fell more leisurely, fell white, fell at the angle the wind wished, fell as snow. On this day of late winter, at this hour of the morning, as it did in Mal Zeth, snow fell at the Melcene University.

* * *

Sithli came in to dinner late. The dining hall was full and her customary place, one char down from the far end of the corner table, was taken. As she approached, she recognized who was sitting there. Menary Cacoelle. And around her, warily, sat Urgar, Nathalie, and the rest. There was one empty chair, just across the table from Menary. Sithli's eyes narrowed and she took it.

"The Dean called Eridis to his office," Airi was saying, despite a mouthful of stew.

Sithli stiffened, but kept silent.

Nathalie looked anxious. "Not to talk about last night?" She glanced at Menary and blushed.

"Classes," said Airi, paused to swallow, and continued. "Her marks are so high that all her tutors recommended her for advanced placements. They're thinking of elevating her. Or perhaps assigning her to a special project. Isn't that the way? Eridis is short on sleep because she insists on studying. Then the infant here gets in trouble and Eridis makes the lot of you turn out for the rescue." Nathalie smiled sheepishly but said nothing.

"Well now we know where Eridis is. What about you?" Urgar said, filling Sithli's water glass. "Where've you been?"

"I've spent the afternoon smiling at Dame Villette while she tore thin strips off me. What have you been doing?"

"Nothing singular," Menary, surprisingly, filled in. "Why was Dame Villette angry with you?"

"Grammar, same as always." Sithli replied. She took a page out of Urgar's book and said it with deliberate flippancy. Then she looked up from her plate and straight into Menary's eyes and found her appetite had vanished.

Menary lifted her eyebrows and smile faintly.

Sithli started to return the smile, knowing the expression didn't reach her eyes. But as he began her artificial response, something in Menary's small porcelain smile provoked Sithli to genuine amusement. She grinned at the blonde haired girl. Menary kept her mask of arch amusement intact. Sithli returned her look for look, hardly able to keep from laughing aloud. The other students at the tale glanced from Sithli to Menary and back, felt their own expressions lighten.

"Through a letter, darkly." Sithli murmured.

Menary's brows drew together as her smile faded. She glanced from Sithli to Urgar, then up the table. With great dignity, she rose and left the dining hall.

"Now," said Urgar, when the door was firmly shut and the diners had all gone back to their plates of stew, "what was that all about?"

Sithli shrugged. "I'm blessed if I know. After staring at Dame Villette, my expression is out of control. Dissect my thought process if you must, but don't hold me responsible for my appearance while you do so."

"If you can't speak sensibly," Urgar remarked with a dry frown. "you can leave."

"Menary doesn't like you." Nathalie sad.

Airi fixed Nathalie with a disapproving gaze. "Odious child, didn't we tell you not to speak until you're spoken to?"

"Who says so?" Sithli asked Nathalie.

"Don't encourage her." Urgar said. "It's taken us most of the day to bring her to a proper sense of her own idiocy for the previous evening."

"Menary did." Nathalie answered. "She says you're to full of your own connections and position."

"She's the one who's full of herself." Malden remarked. "And her family. That's all she'll ever talk about. Do you think they really keep lions in the house?"

"And just when has Menary wasted the breath it takes to tell her classmates anything?" Urgar asked.

"Or willingly eaten a meal in the dining hall." Sithli added. "What brought her here today? I've never seen her in any of the public gathering places before, with the exception of classes. She's practically a recluse."

"She said she had a whim to sit here." Airi answered. "There was an empty place and she claimed it. I haven't ever seen her friendly before. We could hardly discourage her. I don't think it's possible to keep lions indoors. What would one feed them?"

"She was nice to me at The Happy Wench." Nathalie said.

"List, list," said Urgar, holding up a hand to silence Airi's reproof. "O list. When was this?"

Nathalie blushed. "Yesterday. She was taking to Maxim."

"Who's Maxim?" Malden demanded. "As if I couldn't guess."

Nathalie drew a complicated design on her plate with her fork. The other students traded looks of exasperated impatience as they waited for her to speak. "You know," she said finally.

"Menary knew that sailor?" Urgar prompted.

Nathalie nodded slowly. "They seemed very friendly."

"I can just imagine." Urgar remarked grimly. "Did Menary put you up to that jest with the aquavit? Or," he went on with Nathalie shook her head. "could she have put the sailor up to it?"

"Why would Menary waste her time with a sailor?" Airi asked. "She barely speaks to anyone in the school, let along in town."

"Well, for one thing, the sailor is male," said Urgar. "You may have noticed that she has interests in that direction."

"No," Sithli said seriously. She'd barely noticed Menary at all since that arrival months ago. "I hadn't. Go on."

Malden coughed and glanced around the crowded dining hall. "I wouldn't elaborate if I were you, Urgar. Besides, what do her interests amount to? Nothing but rumors. It isn't wise to spread them. Or to figure into them."

"I heard a rumor." Nathalie offered. "I heard that Sithli was called to the Dean's office."

Sithli helped herself to a large bite of stew and thought while she chewed. When she was able she said, "I was."

"I rest my case," said Airi.

"Dare I ask why?" Urgar inquired.

"It had something to do with our outing last night," Sithli answered, half truthfully. Malden and Nathalie winced at each other.

Airi asked, "Why not all of you truants? Why just summon Sithli?"

"The Dean only caught one name," Sithli replied. "Mine."

Urgar looked stricken. "Oh. I do apologize. Was it very bad?"

"Swift and nearly painless," Sithli assured with a smile. "Punishment suspended, unless I'm caught at it again."

"And if you are?" Urgar wondered.

"Summary execution."

"Sword or silken rope?" asked Malden.

"I didn't ask," said Sithli. "Judging from his manner, I think the Dean had something like burning at the stake in mind."

"Suitable for mass executions," Urgar remarked, giving Nathalie a pointed look.

"I know," said Nathalie hastily. "It's all my fault."

"Nathalie, next time you get homesick," Urgar retorted, "do us all a favor and go home, will you?"

As they were leaving the dining hall, Urgar held her back a moment and let the others get a wide head start. Sithli had swallowed her discomfort and was ready for him when he turned to her at last. Urgar was unexpectedly quick and shrewd. She should have known that he'd picked up on her little evasions and deceptions. The eyebrow that he arched in her direction said that he expected her to expect him to pick up on them.

"Well?" he asked.

"There's a whole list of it." Sithli admitted with a resigned sigh. "It's been a very eventful twenty four hours."

"Don't tell me you've managed to get into more trouble than just our little trip last night. I thought you had _more_ sense than Nathalie!"

"It wasn't entirely of my own making." Sithli defended herself and then a thought occurred to her. "I didn't see Eridis at all you know. Was she really summoned to the Dean?"

"She _was_. Last night. That's not where she's been today however. Today she's been outside. At the base of the Cordelion tower."

"What's she doing out there?" Sithli exclaimed in surprise. "It's freezing!"

Urgar shrugged. "She wouldn't tell me. Couldn't. Although from her secrecy I gleaned that it has something to do with how they teach magic here at the university."

"They _don't_ teach magic here." Sithli said dryly. "They lecture on the very broad theory of it, but that's about it."

"Tell that to Eridis. Maybe we don't see it because we don't believe t can be learned."

Sithli looked bothered. "That's ridiculous. Suppose I don't believe in algebra. Algebra still works just the same."

"Not for me," Urgar joked, then smiled at her annoyed expression. "Anyway we've strayed from the topic. Which is currently more important than Eridis' secret mission from the Dean."

"Unless she dies of the cold." Sithli said. "It snowed this morning, for pity's sake."

"Did it?" Urgar looked surprised. "I sat by the window in logic and never noticed. I must have been paying more attention to the lecture than I thought. Lets head over to the dormitory. We can pick Eridis up an extra blanket and talk at the same time."


	5. Chapter Five: The Unnamed Book

**

* * *

**

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART ONE: MELCENA_

**Chapter Five: The Unnamed Book**

"So Menary is trying to get you expelled? From what you've told me, I can't imagine a sufficient reason why. Your personality may not be exactly glowing--"

"Thanks." Sithli cut in dryly.

"but that's not a firm enough platform for the level of malice she's showing you." Urgar continued, as he riffled through his wardrobe in search of his extra comforter. A veritable avalanche of clothes was already spilling from inside the piece of furniture, covering the wooden floor.

"Malice?" Sithli wondered out loud. She'd neatly escaped the flood by crossing to the other side of Urgar's room, near his bookcase. Now she as leaned over, inspecting the titles on the spines of the volumes arranged there.

"Well aside from the fact that a false accusation of that caliber is fairly malicious, her presence at lunch was also a fair indicator of her less than warm disposition. None of us have ever seen her that cheerful and she was practically preening with satisfaction when you came in late. I suspect her good humor and her reason for gracing us with her company sprung from her anticipation over hearing unhappy news regarding your discontinued stay at the university." Urgar cocked his head to one side. "You know, I never understood why the female dormitory is off limits to the male students but the reverse doesn't apply."

"It's because of a difference in interests. I'm sure you'll figure it out if you think hard enough. Have I read all of these?"

Urgar glanced over briefly and then returned his eyes to his search. "Try the ones on the lower shelves. I don't think I've lent you any of those yet. Don't bother with _The Seventh Tower_. It was awful."

"Noted." She agreed, crouching down to slide several of the novels from their places wedged between marble book ends.

"So then, what are you going to do about Menary? Ah ha!" He cried victoriously, dragging a thick, dark blue blanket out of the wardrobe.

"There's not much I can do for now." Sithli stood, tucking her borrowed volumes beneath one arm. "The dean is giving me the benefit of the doubt, which means Menary is giving the benefit of suspicion. I think the only thing I can do at this point is be wary of whatever else she might attempt. And maybe have a talk with her."

"A _talk_ with her?" Urgar echoed incredulously, extinguishing the lamps as he ushered her out of his room, locking the door behind them.

"Yes. What would you do?"

"In your place, I'd challenge her to swords at dawn."

"I wonder if Eridis would be my second." Sithli rejoined with a small smile.

They trooped down the staircase and out of the boys dormitory into the frosty afternoon air. The sky was still steel gray and the university campus was coated in a very thin layer of white snow. Despite his attempts to keep it off he ground, the blue blanket spilled over Urgar's arms, the end that trailed across the frozen ground collecting snow and turning damp black. The terrain of the campus was massive, with hills that rolled and dipped supplanted by flat sweeps of land where the gardens and plazas were arranged.

"Something else." Sithli added, bundling herself up in her cloak. "Eriond visited with me the other afternoon. That same day that we went down to The Happy Wench."

"That explains why you weren't in Logic. I imagine a godly visitation is enough to get you out of class. Then again, this is the Melcene University, so you never know."

"He said you and he are familiar."

Urgar scratched his head, shrugging slightly. "He's more familiar with my father. I've seen him, spoken to him, a couple of times. I think he knows he makes me vastly uncomfortable."

That startled Sithli and she looked over at the Murgo prince. "Why?"

"That…_way_ he has about him. Like he's looking at your soul. You don't find it at all disconcerting?" He sighed when Sithli shook her head. "Maybe disconcerting is the wrong word. Overwhelming, maybe. What did he say?"

"Nothing grave. He was just bringing me a bit of news from back home."

"And of your father's methodical religious conquest of the east?" Urgar asked shrewdly.

Sithli felt a sudden bold of discomfort, and wondered if this was some fraction of what Urgar was talking about feeling when he was around Eriond. She coughed. "That."

"Oh, don't go awkward on me." Urgar said, laughing. "We've pretended to forget who we are for quite a while now. No reason to remember because of one question."

"That's not what we were doing!" Sithli protested, abashed over the idea that she'd disowned herself.

"No? If you remembered you've be demanding 'your imperial highnesses', acting superior to just about everyone, and you'd hiss every time you saw me."

"You're exaggerating."

"Yes." He admitted with a smile. "But not by much." He cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "I wonder if Eriond could get me out of geometry. I could stand a little soul reading if it meant I wouldn't have to turn in that metric project I haven't begun."

They crested one and the spiraling peak of the Cordelion tower came into view, the polished white spire piercing into the slate colored sky. After a few more yards they could make out Eridis' slight form seated at the base of the tower among a series of holly bushes. She was wrapped tightly in a violet cloak and had the hood pulled down far over her ash brown curls, white ermine fur framing her small, wind reddened face. She was seated cross legged, her back flat against the tower's gray stone, and her head started across the gates towards the cloister gardens. Urgar called out as they drew closer. Eridis' head swiveled and she watched their approach.

"You told Sithli." She said, once they were within earshot. The remark wasn't an accusation, just an observation.

"She tortured the information out of me." Urgar defended. "I'm absolutely no good on the rack."

"His excuse for you fell thin when I failed to see you being interrogated alongside me at the Dean's office." Sithli revealed.

Eridis glanced at Urgar. "You told everyone I was with the Dean?"

Urgar dipped his head in a nod. "Being prepared for your future as the most brilliant mind to ever graduate from the prestigious halls of the University of Melcena."

Eridis' teeth flashed in an amused smile. "It's going to be a terrible let down when I graduate at ordinary levels, with the rest of you."

"Not me." Urgar refuted. "I plan to aim for the lower levels myself. I'd rather not let all those insects at my court know I've got anything between my ears but air until I'm safely on the throne."

"Not me either." Sithli added as well, studying the point of her shoe. "I don't want to give my father the satisfaction of not only graduating, but graduating with honors as well. He'd be smug for _years_."

Their friend shook her head. "Honestly, the lengths you two will go for ruse is truly stupendous." She shifted her gaze towards Sithli now, inquiring. "Why were you at the Dean's office?"

"Our midnight escapades to rescue Nathalie." Sithli said, deciding to give Eridis the same half excuse she'd told the rest of their party. She hoped that Urgar didn't intervene. "The Dean caught my name coming out of his garden."

Eridis looked pained. "Oh no. Did you get in very much trouble?"

"A warning merely, since it was my first offense. The dean is an unpredictable and mysterious individual. For instance, why he has you sitting out here in the freezing cold…" Sithli probed with an arch of her eyebrow.

"Your guess is as good as mine, honestly." Eridis confessed, her breath expelling in tiny silver clouds. "I wasn't given much explanation of why, just the order to do. And if the Dean gives me an order, I'd much rather listen than not. Besides, I've felt strangely…right since I set down here." She paused and smiled. "Well, except for the chill. Is that for me?" She gestured towards the blanket in Urgar's arms.

"We thought it would be unfortunate if you died of the cold before you had a chance to take your swipes at Nathalie." Urgar smiled, passing her the comforter. "Although I imagine Airi and Malden wouldn't mind being allotted your share."

"They shouldn't be too harsh on her. She's just silly. She can't help it." Eridis said kindly as she wrapped the heavy blanket around her shoulders and buried down into it with a sigh of relief.

"Has anything at all happened?" Sithli wondered, still curious about Eridis' mystery mission.

"No." The other girl shook her head slightly.

"No," Sithli questioned carefully, "or you won't say?"

Eridis grinned. "No. I imagine that when it happens I won't be able to entirely hide that it did. I'll probably be fairly odious, for a while if not permanently. I hope you'll be patient with me."

"You could never be odious." Urgar assured her.

Eridis smiled at him, pleased. "Thank you Urgar. You and Sithli should head on now though. I get the feeling that I'm not supposed to have company for very long."

"Alright." He agreed. "If it won't offend your sixth sense, I'll bring you your dinner if you don't turn up for the evening meal."

"I'd appreciate that very much."

Urgar gave her a florid bow and then he and Sithli headed back down the hill, away from the tower. Sithli glance back once, saw Eridis staring after them, before she hitched the dark blue blanket higher up on her shoulders and then craned her head back, turning her face towards the silvery sky.

* * *

Urgar walked her back to the women's dormitory and then they parted ways for the afternoon, until they'd meet up again with the rest of their group for dinner. She poked her head into Nathalie's room brief, with the sole purpose of obtaining some of the sweets that the blonde girl had stashed in her room. Bringing food into the dormitory rooms was expressly forbidden, but Nathalie had a ferocious sweet tooth and always managed to smuggle something inside one way or another. Sithli returned to her own room an hour or so later with a quarter of a plum cake, hidden in a lavender hat box, and several packets of tea leaves. The foul weather made it a perfect day for staying inside and being lazy so she heated water over one of the lamps and then set down on her bed to begin working her way through the novels she'd borrowed from Urgar.

Sithli reclined against the pillow propped at the head of the bed, hat box balanced on her thigh, and reached for the top most book on the stack. It was thin, bound in fresh red leather, and new looking, but the pages inside were dry and yellowed as if they were very old. There was no writing on the cover and no title on or author name on any part of the book. Oddly enough, she couldn't remember picking it up, but she had been rather liberal with the number of books she'd pillaged from Urgar's shelf so it was easy to imagine grabbing it without thinking. The more she considered that possibility the surer she became that that was what had happened.

The first few pages were blank and Sithli flipped through them idly, wondering if it was an unused journal. Just as the thought occurred, however, she opened to page of thin text written in verse form that began;

_Time's my constant mistress  
__And the untamed space my marrow;  
__The Flaming Drake, and the Night Child make  
__Seed and flower of my sorrow._

The next line popped into Sithli's head before she even read it; _The universe is full of noise. _It was the song that Eridis and the rest had used to call Urgar and she from the library. That made sense. She could remember Malden, or had it been Nathalie?, mentioning they'd gotten it from a book. She closed the cover and set it aside, picking up the next novel in the stack, _Three Men in a Boat_. The book had absorbed Urgar for several weeks and she'd been itching to read it since then.

She found, however, that she as unable to afford it full concentration. She'd gotten half way down the first page only when her thoughts kept straying back towards the song. At first she didn't notice it. It wasn't until her fingers moved to turn the page that she realized she couldn't remember a singer word of what she'd just read and instead had been mentally repeating the first verse to herself. She made a sound of frustration and began the first chapter again but her thoughts slid away from the text on the page before her as, idly, she wondered what a "flaming drake" was.

When her third attempt to dissolve her awareness into the novel failed, Sithli pushed _Three Men in a Boat _aside in resigned frustration and took up the untitled book again. A quick flipping brought her to the page where the text began again.

_Time's my constant mistress  
__And the untamed space my marrow;  
__The Flaming Drake, and The Night Child make  
__Seed and flower of my sorrow_

_The universe is full of noise_

_With a host of seven chosen scions  
__Whereof the Unchosen God is commander;  
__With a burning sphere, and a wolf of air  
__To the wilderness they wander_

The verse was slightly different than the one which her friends had sang that night in the garden, Sithli noticed. This version did not, exactly, fit in with the constraints of the melody that her companions had chosen to set the words to. The second line had too many syllables, which explained why they'd altered it. That and because Malden seemed inclined to take poetic license with absolutely everything. She could easily imagine the revisions being his.

Shaking her head, she read on, noticing that the discrepancies continued;

_While The Thrice Prince, The Witch, The Dreaming Princess,  
__And The Beloved Architect  
__Summoned are to tourney;  
__A hundred millennia beyond the wide world's end; _

_Prepare well for the journey_

A jolt of familiarity struck Sithli immediately and she reread the last two lines. They were different from the version Urgar and the others had sang, so surely that was why it seemed she'd heard it before. But there was something else nagging at her. _A hundred millennia_.

All at once memory came flooding back to her. A late night alley, a faint illumination revealing two shadows with female voice, a pair of players and their story telling. _A hundred millennia beyond end of the world. It'll be quite a journey…._

The knock on her door made her start so badly that the hat box that Nathalie had given her the plum cake in overturned off her thigh, clattering to the floor. Sithli shut the book quickly and moved fast to right the box again, already preparing to curse the mess that the smooshed plum cake would cause on the rugs. But the cake box was empty aside from a few crumbs to attest to the pastry that had once been inside. Had she eaten the sliver of cake without even realizing it?

The knocking continued and Sithli moved the hat box onto her bed side table before crossing to the door. She unlatched the bolt and swung it open. Nathalie stood on the other side, her blonde hair damp and bound into a braid, wearing a heavy cloak over her green dress.

"I came to see if you wanted to walk to dinner together." The blonde girl asked when Sithli appeared.

"Ah, yes." Sithli agreed, somewhat quizzically. "Have you just come from some where?"

Nathalie stared at her blankly for a long moment. "Not just now. I went to the baths earlier."

"Your hair was dry when I came to your room." Sithli observed, her confusion mounting.

"Because I hadn't washed it then." Nathalie replied slowly, matching Sithli confusion for confusion. "Do you want to leave then? The boys are probably already at the dining hall. I went by Eridis' room but it seems she hasn't come back from the dean's office yet. She's been there the entire day now."

"The entire day? Nathalie it's only mid afternoon."

"What are you talking about?" The blonde girl said, shocked. "The sun set almost two hours ago." Her expression turned suspicious. "Or is this your way of heckling me? I gave you the plum cake didn't I? Shouldn't that be enough reparation?"

Sithli's eyes had gone wide however and she'd become very still. "How long ago was it; that you gave me the cake, I mean?"

"Five or six hours I think." Her look had gone concerned now. "Are you alright? You look very pale."

"It's…nothing." Sithli said, struggling to figure out how so much time had slipped by without her noticing it. She would have sworn that she'd only come back from her outing with Urgar only two hours ago. Had she been more absorbed in reading than she thought? Or dozed off without realizing?

"If you're certain." Nathalie said dubiously then she leaned forward and peered into Sithli's room. "You should get your cloak. It snowed again around twilight. And bring my hat box, won't you. I thought I might bring some macaroons back from dinner with me."


	6. Chapter Six: Various Investigations

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART ONE: MELCENA_

**Chapter Six: Various Investigations**

Just past dawn of the next day, Eridis returned from her vigil with a secretive expression and a bone-rattling cough. To her classmates' well-concealed exasperation she would reveal nothing of what had transpired during her absence and attended the morning lecture, nodding smugly throughout. Afterward, she allowed Sithli and Nathalie to escort her to the infirmary, where she took to her bed with seraphic patience.

"It was bad enough before," Nathalie observed at the midday meal. "Eridis always looked as though she knew something I don't. Generally she does. But now that I _know_ she knows, and she knows I know she knows—" She lifted her hands, exasperated. "I don't understand how anyone with a chest cold can manage to look so extremely complacent."

"Master Brachet covers the topic in deportment," Urgar replied. "Did she say anything at all about her whereabouts?"

"Not at all," said Sithli. "Double bind."

"Think what you like," Urgar answered. She nodded at Nathalie, who had turned her attention to her plateful of cabbage. "Just try not to corrupt the young. Any more upsets with your awareness of time?" He wondered at her, arching an eyebrow.

"Not at all." Sithli echoed her response again. "After dinner I went back to my room and promptly asleep without another thought. Now I start to wonder if maybe that's what I did before as well; simply fell asleep and dreamed the whole thing. Maybe you exhaust me?"

"What a nice thing to say." Urgar feigned being charmed. "You don't think the matter deserves further consideration?"

"I don't think so. The fact that you exhaust me is fairly straight forward."

Urgar gave her a dark look. "Please don't do that, Sithli. That's _my_ thing."

"Imitation is the highest form of flattery." She rejoined with a smile.

"Oh, well if it's flattery…"

"You two have the most backwards conversations of any two people I've ever met." Airi observed as he joined them at their usual table, clattering down into the seat between Nathalie and Malden. "Almost as bad as the scholars. My eyes cross every time they try to explain something to us. I love it when they realize we're only feigning comprehension."

"That's only fair. They enjoy it so much when they catch us doing it to them." Sithli put her napkin beside her plate. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be off."

"Off where?" asked Urgar. "Rhetoric isn't for another half an hour."

"I'm going to the bakers on High Street," Sithli replied. "Somehow, cabbage doesn't thrill me the way it use to."

"We only do it to soothe their nerves, poor things." Nathalie said to Malden.

"I expect that's what they have in mind for us, as well. Grim thought, isn't it?"

"Extremely."

Sithli left the others talking at the table. By the time she was out the college fate and walking into High Street, Urgar was waiting for her.

"I'd be careful about using that oak tree," Sithli advised, "particularly in broad day. The Dean's declared his disapproval."

"You forced me into it. Why go to a pastry shop when you never have any money? Vulgar curiosity got the better of me."

"What did the others think?"

"Nothing. I told them I was off to fetch a book from the study."

"Thank you for that. If you'd bought the whole pack along, I would have had to go to the bakers after all." She set off along the street.

Urgar fell into step beside her. "Where are we going, then?"

"To The Happy Wench."

"Why?"

"To see Nathalie's sailor."

"_Why?_"

Sithli shrugged. "He might prove useful for further reference."

"In case you decide to corrupt the young after all?"

"In case someone else wants to. Nathalie said Menary knew the sailor too. It might be interesting to find out how well they know one another."

"You think he'll tell you? After we maimed his friends? Ha. I can tell you more than he ever will. If he knows Menary Cacoelle at all, he knows her very, _very_ well."

"How do you know?"

Urgar looked exasperated. "Well, he's hardly the first. Menary has something of a reputation."

Sithli blushed to the roots of her hair. "Oh."

"It's been going on almost since the day she arrived. If she didn't care for herself, you'd think she'd care for her reputation. And the university's. I'm surprised that word hasn't reached her parents and made them explode with mortification, and fetch her back already."

Sithli frowned. "The university has rules…"

"And you know perfectly well how we keep them. Whatever two penny half penny court Menary came from, the university is a miracle of liberty by comparison. To give her some credit, she doesn't seem to break the rules to get attention. She just breaks them for her own amusement. So far, she hasn't harmed anyone but herself."

"What about Nathalie?"

Urgar stifled a sigh. "It's our duty to keep an eye on her when she isn't thinking properly. But aside from that, if it suits her to go her own way—or Menary's—it's our duty to let her."

Sithli stopped at The Happy Wench's doorstep. "And me? You don't have a duty to me. I'm here to find out what Menary is up to regarding me, not to avenge Nathalie."

Urgar rolled his eyes. "I told you why I'm here."

"Vulgar curiosity." Sithli eyed Urgar curiously. "I'm not sure I believe you."

"You should. Shall we go in and look for your sailor?"

"_Nathalie_'s sailor. Or possibly Menary's." Sithli corrected, following Urgar into the Happy Wench.

At their entrance, the host looked up from his customers and swept towards them. "No, no. No more of your kind in here, " he said indignantly. "No more students. We don't serve students here."

"We don't wish to be served, old boy." Urgar said flippantly. "We're looking for a sailor called Maxim. I was told to ask for him here."

The host regarded Urgar with deep suspicion. "You are friends of his?"

"We only want to ask him some questions."

"I want to ask him questions too," the host said angrily. "I want to ask him why he left the room he rented from me without paying the reckoning."

"He's gone?" Sithli looked alarmed. "Where?"

"If I knew that, would I be short the money?"

"When did he leave?"

"I don't know that either. If you see him, you tell him I'm looking for him."

"When did he leave?" Sithli pressed.

"You are a very nosy young lady," the host observed. "Leave." He took Sithli and Urgar back to the threshold and shooed them out. "And stay away," he advised, as he shut the door.

Urgar regarded Sithli with interest. "Well, that was definite, at least. What next?"

Sithli set off towards the gates at the foot of the street. "I wonder," she said, and fell into an abstracted silence. Urgar at her side, she walked through the gates of the university and out along the causeway. Since the strangeness of the previous night, Sithli had decided that there were one too many usual things going on in her life. Her solution had been to go about righting them, the issue with Menary seemingly being the simplest matter at hand. Her brief inquiry at the Wench, however, had suddenly added a whole new level of complication.

"Are we going to walk to Peldane?" Urgar asked, after a few hundred yards. "Its miles."

Sithli looked up, startled. "You're right. That would take all day." She turned back toward the gates, but before she reached them she saw a woman in a low cut dress striding towards them. Her hair was arranged on her head and the apron she wore over the plain brown grown was stained and dirty. She recognized the revealing attire; it was the one affected by most of the barmaids at The Happy Wench.

The woman's green eyes were wary as she stopped in front of them, glancing back and forth between Sithli and Urgar. "You two. Yer the ones asking about Maxim."

"Yes." Sithli said, her heart pounding in excitement. "That was us."

"I have a bit of information." She said cautiously and then her eyes turned guarded. "If yer willing ta pay for it."

Sithli glanced quickly at Urgar. He made a face at her and then reached into his belt and pulled a few coins from it. The look he gave her as he handed the coins over to the well endowed woman clearly said that she was going to owe him for it.

"What is it you know?" Sithli asked as the bar maid tested the coins with her teeth then tucked them quickly away in her bodice.

"I was working that night yer blonde haired friend came to see that sailor. After that little fight ye all had I was responsible for seeing to him." She glanced at Urgar. "Ye broke the sailor's arm, you know. He was in a foul mood with that injury and I was sent to go an' fetch a physician. It was a challenge and then some finding one at that hour. I brought her to the Wench and sent her up to that sailor's room. There was a bunch of yellin' from up there. No one paid any mind though. Settin' bones is usually painful. An hour or so later the physician came down and told us he'd sleep for a bit and should be brought up a thin porridge for breakfast in the morning."

"But he wasn't there the next morning?" Urgar guessed.

The girl shook her head. "No. No one has seen him since that night. His possessions are still in the room he rented. He's no where to be found."

"Scarpered," said Sithli.

"Without a single one of his belongings?" Urgar countered. "That doesn't seem likely."

"Most 'ave assumed he was a bit afraid." The girl suggested. "Yer little fight was his fault and his friends weren't all that happy about being trounced by a group of students. He wasn't very popular. When I checked his room that morning, I found a dead rat in his unmade bed."

Sithli grimaced.

Urgar's eyes narrowed. "That's interesting. The owner of the Happy Wench didn't mention any rat."

The girl shrugged. "Bad for business, I should think."

"Maxim left his belongings. He went off without a word, with a broken arm that will keep him from working for weeks." Urgar frowned. "Where did he go? And why did he go there?"

Sithli glanced at him. "You're becoming awfully invested for someone who tagged along out of vulgar curiosity."

"I hate mysteries. Particularly ones that involve someone I'm looking for disappearing without a trace."

"Perhaps he's out there some where." Sithli suggested, glancing in the direction of the coast line.

The bar maid snorted. "I hope so. The last thing the Wench needs is a reputation about being infested." She frowned a bit gravely. "It means nothing, I'm sure, but the rat had a broken foreleg."

Urgar stared.

"How perfectly disgusting." Sithli said with a grimace.

The three of them made their way back across the walkways. The bar maid let them at the college gate. Despite Sithli's questions about sailors and rats, Urgar said nothing on the way back, nothing on the way to collect their books, nothing until they reached the landing on the stair near number five study. It was Sithli who broke the silence then.

"I'm going to head to the library."

Urgar paused, glancing back at her suspiciously. "More investigation?"

"Purely scholastic." She assured him. "I want to know what a "flaming drake" is."

"A flaming drake?" He repeated and then frowned. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"It should. Its part of a line from that song that caused the entire scholar population to give us dirty looks every time we enter the public study rooms. _The flaming drake, and the night child make; Seed and flower of my sorrow_," she recited for him.

"Oh that. Why's it all that important?"

"It isn't really." Sithli granted, since she'd been wondering quite the same thing ever since the notion of researching it had popped into her own head. "But the song's been stuck in my head and I think may be why. If I can figure it out maybe I can finally get through something else without humming to myself."

"It is a catchy tune, isn't it?" Urgar announced proudly.

"Is that a confession?"

"As a virtuoso, I don't like to brag." He said, with false modesty, buffing his fingernails on the front of his vest.

"Clearly. Did you want to come with me? I know you still haven't completed your astronomy table yet."

Urgar looked pained. "No thank you. I plan to continue my procrastination for at least another week." His expression turned hopeful. "Unless you'd like to let me copy yours."

"It's not at all properly devised. I simply chose at random. But you're welcome to it if you like."

"No, I suppose not," Urgar sighed. "Let's not give them any ammunition, since they're observing your work for signs of plagiarism."

Sithli frowned. "I'd almost forgotten about that."

"You shouldn't. Go be studious." Urgar ordered with a wave of his hand. "I'm going to see if I can pry anything more out of Eridis. My vulgar curiosity is just running rampant with me today."


	7. Chapter Seven: Speaking From Shadows

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART ONE: MELCENA_

**Chapter Seven: Speaking From Shadows**

Menary made no more trouble for Sithli as the week progressed. Nathalie found no more scrapes to fall into. Her sailor was never heard of again.

Eridis became so proficient at her studies that she traveled in a tangible mist of brilliance, like the scent of wet earth in springtime. In acknowledgement of her advancement, her tutors prevailed on the dean and the proctors to administer her comprehensives early. Eridis passed them, accepted her degree with shining happiness, and was promptly move into the upper classes. The only class she still attended with them was the dean's morning lecture. Her friends made envious remarks to conceal the emotions, and took up the threads of the school routine again, but Eridis' strand was sorely missed.

Malden and Airi applied themselves to their studies so strictly that they nearly vanished from the routine, too. Even Nathalie displayed some signs of academic ability. Which left Sithli and Urgar alone in their study of three volume novels, Sithli because she didn't believe in devoting too much attention to learning a topic which did not interest her, and Urgar because he didn't want to learn to swiftly.

"Just think about it," Sithli said over teacups, one gloomy afternoon. "Five months of the university Eridis stole from herself. And why? To show off."

Urgar was at the window, elbows on the sill, half absorbed in his book. "Does the first snow goose north in the spring fly to show off? Or does it answer a call it can't resist."

A flight of geese had gone over in the night, their wild cry waking Sithli from a dream about Mal Zeth. She'd sat up in bed for the rest of the night, arms clasped around her knees, shivering with homesickness. She shivered again now. "Oh, don't speak in metaphysics. It's bad enough when the Dean does."

"I can't help it." Urgar turned the page. "It's all Master Villette wants to hear. I've become very fluent at calling a hawk a heron."

"The doctrine of signatures," said Sithli with loathing. "Every single thing in the world symbolizes something it isn't. It's a wonder anything gets done."

"Does anything get gone? Isn't it all part of the divine struggle of order and chaos, rising to fall, falling to rise again?"

"Why don't you just go home, since you're so clever." Sithli said bitingly.

"You're just out of sorts because you've been at it for days and still haven't found out what a 'flaming drake' is." Urgar remarked placidly, turning a page in his book.

Sithli scowled blackly down into her tea. "It doesn't make any sense! Not a single mention of it."

"You should just let it lie." Urgar advised sagely. "At this point I'm starting to think you're just being stubborn about giving up rather then simply curious."

"I think you should keep your bad opinions to yourself." Sithli retorted.

Urgar looked up from his book and glanced across the room at her, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "My, you're grumpy. Have I mentioned that you have the absolutely worst temper when you're frustrated? About how long do you think this will last? You'll probably be impossible to live with for a while."

Sithli said several rude things to him at that point and Urgar sighed, rose from his seat and promptly left the study.

* * *

Word moved very quickly among their group after that. Apparently they'd all been warned that their friend was in a delicate temperament at the moment and everyone stepped lightly around her, if not avoided her completely. Sithli found their imposed distance simultaneously annoying and gratifying. It also forced her to admit that Urgar had been right. Her continued failure to make any headway with her research had frustrated her to the point of near constant bad temper. It was a trait she got from her father, Sithli imagined. She was fairly level headed most of the time, but when she was striving to do something which insisted on failing, her level temperament took a very bad and very extreme descent.

The day after her minor squabble with Urgar Sithli sat in the corner of the lecture hall, listening half attentively to the Dean's instruction and attempting to sketch the armillary spheres use to model the relation of the world to the celestial order. She'd recorded the sources the Dean cited in her arguments, pursued them through the stacks of the library; the writings of the gods, Belgarath, Polgara, the ancient prophets, and the rest. In theory, there was the world, the lowest, most mundane sphere of the model. Divided into overlapping hemispheres, and the world was directed by the gods, whose theoretical wardships enfolded one another.

For the rest of the model, the Dean explained, the world lay at the heart of nested celestial spheres. The highest degree of mafic in the world was lower by far than the lowest of that in the next sphere of the model. But nothing linked the spheres. There was no passage from one to the next in life. Within the precincts of the world, the gods held the sphere in balance.

From her reading, Sithli had concocted theories of her own. Primarily her ideas were focused around the idea of rudimentary gods verses new ones. If the world could be imagined, in its primal state, as a rough draft of sorts then the gods, also, could be construed as temporal, impermanent guardians. Wardens possibly. Which implied that at each spherical level there was a Greater God of that sphere. Her theory put the gods such Chalden, Nedra, and Belar above The World. Ul would be the highest. Sithli had never decided where to put Aldur. Was he fixed in the same sphere as the other lower gods, between them and Ul, or did he have a sphere of his own?

Try as she would, Sithli could not keep from thinking of the spheres as soap bubbles, floating one within another. She imagined that if there was no one to rectify the balance, the entire model would vanish, to go wherever soap bubbles o, just about as suddenly. Since the world showed no signs of vanishing, Sithli presumed this was more of the Emperor's wardrobe.

_Very clever, if a bit rudimentary. And too optimistic. Who says that your concept of 'vanishing' is the way that it actually happens? Did you consider that?_

The voice was female, amused, and made Sithli visibly jump in surprise. It was not just the fact that the words seem to come from absolutely no where at all, nor that no one but she seemed to notice it, but that the speaker seemed to have intruded upon her thoughts in a very in-depth fashion.

"Who's that?" Sithli asked, and was promptly shushed by several of the classmates around her.

_My, they're a serious bunch._ This time it was a different voice. Still female, still amused. The difference between it and the first voice was, in fact, barely noticeable at all.

_Who are you?_, Sithli wondered without speaking, feeling vaguely ridiculous for it.

_That's just right! _The first voice praised her, cheerful.

That's when she saw them. They appeared from the corners of the room in the form of black pools. Ones that slid across the marble ground of the theater in the manner one would expect of a stingray gliding across the ocean bottom. Formless masses of liquid onyx that came from opposite direction to meet upon the wall near which Sithli sat. As solid backdrop was established behind them both pools took shape and shifted into forms that were distinctively female.

Sithli's blood ran ice cold and her fingers curled against the arms of her chair. Her head swiveled but there was no one casting the shadows against the wall. No one else, in fact, seemed to be noticing them at all. She turned back, eyes wide, her voice a sharp pain.

"Who are you?" Her surprise made her exclaim it aloud and, once more, she was harshly shushed and given a number of odious glares.

_The typical thing to say would be 'We're no one important', _said the first voice._ But that would be a lie. We are, in fact, quite important. Almost as important as you currently are._

_O, brave princess, chosen to journey beyond the end of the world, _the second said.

Sithli recognized the voices now. They were the same ones she'd heard speaking the night of her first trip to The Happy Wench. The players, whose skit she'd linked to Urgar's song.

_It isn't his song._ The first voice said, as if it had plucked the thought straight from her head. _There are parts of it for him. And parts of it for others. All of it for you. You've been searching for it's title, but you won't find it. It is The Sudden Prophecy and you've been wasting time._

_Wasting time what? What is The Sudden Prophecy?_

_The song, of course. That's what it is, _the second voice informed her patiently. _O, noble chosen, make haste discerning the meaning of the first verse. There is no more time, your enemy moves, and the soap bubbles are drifting towards oblivion. _

_What!? _Sithli felt a bolt of pure shock rattle her frame. _Are you saying that song is prophecy? It's nonsense._

_It must be deciphered._

_By who?_

_You._

"Why me?" Sithli shouted, angrily shushed again.

_Why not you?_ The first voice asked with that same amused tone.

_I can think of a million reasons. I spent weeks working on two simple words from that thing and I've still managed nothing._

_You are searching wrong. _Oddly enough, Sithli found she could still feel offended even when bewildered. _If you cannot find the answer for something, you should ask someone more knowledgeable than you._

_So I can have help?_

_Certain help._

_Who?_

_That is your choice. We cannot make it. Be quick. Be not distracted. _

They were becoming paler now and Sithli realized with a start that the two figures were fading away. She half rose out of her chair, as if she could somehow reach out and grab hold of the insubstantial shadows and keep them from vanishing completely.

_Wait!_

_We'll be back. If you do things correctly, _the first voice responded faintly.

_That was a nice snow fall you dreamed, last month, _the second said with a laugh._ A very smooth job. _

And then they were gone. Frustration and hilarity and confusion vied for dominance, filling her stomach with a fluttering that made her dizzy and sick. This, all this, sounded like something out of myths and her parents' stories. Prophecies. Disembodied voices---shadow bodies voices, rather. The hilarity won and Sithli felt a grin spreading over her face, felt the urge to laugh loudly. She had never been hysterical before, and she found she didn't completely dislike the feeling.

Just as she was judging the merit of laughing or not laughing (she was sure she would be shushed again if she chose the former, if not worse) she felt the prick of eyes on her. Her head turned and, startled, locked gazes with Eridis, seated several rows down the theater. They stared at each other, Eridis looking as bewildered as she felt. Then, slowly, the brown haired girl touched a finger to her ear.

* * *

The lecture ended, without climax or conclusion and the students were released their own affairs until the next class. Sithli streamed out through the huge double doors with the rest of the crowd and was unsurprised to find Eridis waiting for her in the corridor. They stood to one side without speaking as the rest of the student body ill the halls ways in a loudly buzzing mass that eventually ebbed, thinned, and then vanished completely leaving the corridor in a silence like a black hole.

"How did you learn to mind speak?" Eridis asked at last, leaning against the marble walls of the corridors with her books between her ankles.

"To what?" Sithli asked.

"Mind speak." Eridis tapped her temple with a finger. "Communication without speak. It's what you were doing back there."

"Oh." Sithli shook her head, as if trying to dislodge some fog from before her eyes. "How did you—Is that what that meant?" She mimicked the gesture that Eridis had made at her across the lecture hall, touching a finger to her ear. "That you heard it?" Eridis nodded slowly. "Then you heard what was said?"

This time the small girl shook her head, making her ash brown curls bounce. "No. Although I can sense it, I can't mind speak. What I heard was more like a dull buzz or a murmur. Nothing distinct." She frowned. "Who were you talking to? I could hear it coming from you and there were different pitches, which indicates multiple speakers, but I couldn't locate the other. Or is it something you can't tell me?"

Sithli's eyebrows flew up. "Is that what you've been learning at the university? So they teach magic after all. I hate it when Urgar's right."

"It's more complicated than that. Was that change of subject intentional or coincidental?"

"So you didn't see those two…figures. Shadows."

Eridis' face became a mask of confusion. "Shadows?"

Sithli stared at her friend for a long moment. Eridis' brief confession about hearing the residual of her conversation with the two shadows had hinted a great deal about the secret behind her friend's mysterious advancements and special classes. Was Eridis a sorceress now? She studied the tiny, slim girl with her pale brown curls, her sweet face, with its calm, intelligent sapphire eyes. She was dressed in the scholarly robes of the advances classes; dark green trimmed in silver with two sashes across her chest. It was suddenly like a light coming on.

"Do you know what a flaming drake is?"

Eridis frowned, brow knitting. "A flaming drake? That was Torak's crest."

A bolt of electricity shot through Sithli. "Torak?"

The small girl nodded. "Archaic. It was almost exclusively used prior to the cracking of the world. It looks like this," She pulled a sheet of parchment from between her books and with a charcoal pencil she made a quick sketch of a lizard-like creature expelling fire from it's mouth.

Sithli recognized the symbol immediately. "That's The Dragon Cult's signet!"

"Drake is an old term for dragon. To the followers of Torak, the Flaming Drake was believed to be a symbol of Torak's exaltation and power. However, after the battle that caused the cracking of the world the term 'flaming' became rapidly associated with the way the Orb of Aldur left Torak perpetually on fire. So they stopped using that particular crest to avoid insulting him and destroyed any reference to it at all."

"Then how is that you know about it? I've been searching the library for weeks."

"There was brief mention of it in something written by Beldin the Sorcerer. Those writings are uncatalogued, so I'm not surprised you couldn't find it in the stacks. I was only given them to read because there was information in it pertinent to my….other studies."

Eridis. Sithli knew that the clever, advanced girl was the right person at that instant. There wasn't the cloud of doubt of uncertainty in her mind. It was almost…like a bell ringing in her head.

"Have you heard of anything called The Sudden Prophecy?"

Eridis shook her head. "I've read plenty of prophecy, but nothing called The Sudden Prophecy. It seems oxymoronic to me."

"How so?"

"Well, a prophecy is usually very old, thought out, and meant to predict events eons after its creation, isn't it? The idea of something being suddenly prophetic….it seems sort of ludicrous."

Sithli set her lips together thoughtfully. "That's interesting."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, or will it have to remain a mystery?" Eridis asked patiently. Sithli imagined that having her own secrets must have made Eridis very tolerant of others'.

Sithli stared at her. "Do you have time before your next class?"

"About half an hour or so."

"You might need to skip it. This is, apparently, very important.

Eridis looked interested. "Let's go to my room. You can tell me about it over the muffins that I got from Nathalie. And a cup of tea. I may need it."


	8. Chapter Eight: The Sudden Prophecy

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART ONE: MELCENA_

**Chapter Eight: The Sudden Prophecy**

Although they made the trip over to Eridis room to retrieve Nathalie's muffins, neatly hidden in a hat box not unlike the plum cake had been, Eridis insisted that they convene in number five study, the favorite spot of their little group. Sithli didn't argue, since Eridis' logic that they'd be less likely to be over heard was logical. The studies were all soundproofed so anyone listening at the door wouldn't hear a thing. Sithli made a stop of her own to retrieve the small book containing the song the shadows called The Sudden Prophecy and then she and Eridis headed over to number five.

Ever organized, Eridis similarly insisted on getting the fire blazing and dividing their snacks before they even got down to speaking. Sithli was antsy and impatient as she gnawed on the top of a muffin, but she didn't bother arguing. It was, in fact, pointless to argue with Eridis. Although the girl was quite passive, on the rare times when she did put her foot down, it stayed down.

Warm and tranquil nearly to the point of sleepiness, Sithli recounted the incident in the lecture hall to Eridis while the tiny girl sipped at her tea. And then, at Eridis' questions, backtracked and told her about the first encounter, where she'd overheard the shadows in the alleyway. Eridis listened without common or change in expression, aside from the contemplative downwards tilting of her eyebrows.

"So now you're left to decode this prophecy?" She asked when Sithli had finished.

"So they told me. With the help of another person who I was to choose."

Eridis smiled wryly at her. "And you chose me."

"Aren't you lucky." Sithli grinned at her and then sobered. "To be perfectly honest, I'm not even sure it was really me who did the choosing, despite what they said. When you stopped me in the corridor and started trying to pry information out--"

"I did not _pry_." Eridis objected, offended.

"of me, there was a sort of _knowing_, that it was supposed to be you."

"Despite being flattered, I don't know if my skills will be up to par. The flaming drake was entirely a fluke. It was pure coincidence that I happened to have come across it and even more so that I remembered it."

"Maybe. All the same, I'm not going to deny your superior intellect." Sithli held up a hand quickly to forestall Eridis' objection. "And don't be modest, please. I'm not saying I'm stupid, but when it comes to things like researching or memorization or," she grimaced "metaphysics, you're far and away more talented than I."

Eridis was quiet for a long moment, her eyes on the fine grained wood of the study's table. She lifted her gaze, glancing up at Sithli. "May I see the book?"

Sithli passed the red leather bound book across the table to Eridis, sitting on the edge of the chair why she watched the petite girl turn through the pages until she reached the thin verses of text. Sithli didn't need to see the page to know what was written there. She'd already committed the entire thing to memory.

"I'd forgotten how much we'd changed it." Eridis remarked. "I can see why. He proper lines don't fit Urgar's melody properly." She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. "If The Flaming Drake is Torak, then who's The Night Child? Another god? And who did Torak cause sorrow for?"

"Did you want a list?" Sithli asked dryly. "The entire world. More than the entire world! The universe."

Eridis' eyes lit, like coals stirred into life; bright blue and intrigued. "That's true, isn't it?" She murmured, turning to the first verse of the song again. "And since She's the mother of all, it would make sense."

Sithli felt like a cart left behind by a run away horse. "You'll have to slow down Eridis. Who's _She_?"

"The Universe."

"The universe is a _she_?"

Eridis smiled. "I'm sorry. I forgot you aren't taking comparative theology classes with me. In some traditions, the universe is believed to be the mother of everything. Of the stars, the planets, and even the gods. That would explain why She's mentioned in the bridge between the first and second verse."

"_The universe is full of noise_." Sithli quoted. Eridis nodded. "Then which god is The Night Child?"

Eridis spread her hands. "I don't know. It might not be a god. If we're talking about The Universe then it could be absolutely anything. What could cause The Universe sorrow?"

"I was not, until now, even aware that it could feel, let alone what the scope of its emotions is."

"Her." Eridis corrected. Sithli looked at her. "She is a mother after all."

Sithli shook her head. "Shall we be detectives then? Although I'm not entirely sure what's going on, it seems to be fairly important. And if I can get it done quickly, the better."

Eridis nodded. "Alright. I'll make a copy of it for myself. I'd like to look into this Night Child, if I can. Also since we know it makes reference to Torak, we might want to go through some old Angarak texts or other writings from that time. Maybe more of the worlds by Beldin or Belgarath."

"I've read some of Belgarath's writings. I'll delve into those then. Polgara's as well, since the two are often good for filling in gaps in the other."

"I'll ask about the theology scholars. The Thrice Prince, The Dreaming Princess, The Witch…they might be deities as well."

Sithli sighed very deeply. "It seems we have a great deal of work to do." She looked glumly at the cover of the red leather book. "I wonder if Urgar will want _Three Men in a Boat_ back anytime soon."

In the days that followed, Sithli saw almost no one except for Eridis. The two spent long hours cloistered together in the library or number five study, pouring over every historical, philosophical, and theological text they could possibly get their hands on. To any observer, they probably looked like any of the intense scholars that populated the university. It snowed again on the third day after she'd recruited Eridis to her cause, despite the fact that it was the tail end of winter already. Sithli couldn't help but be grateful. Had the weather been fair, the temptation to go out would have been too great to resist. As it was, sitting in front of the fire with their dusty old tomes was, in fact, the more comfortable option.

As the days rolled on and she and Eridis delved deeper into their research, Sithli experienced unexpected flourish in certain classes. History, for one, and language for another. But there was also notable decline in other areas of her academic performance. She'd almost completely stopped turning in her work for logic, to the point that Master Fell held Sithli back after class one afternoon. With a few chose words about the quality of her work he handed her back the paper she'd turned in the previous class, a little dog-eared at the corners and much marked in blue pencil.

"Think through your points again. Find sources to support you. Let me see it when you've finished."

Sithli accepted the paper. "When should I turn it in?"

Master Fell looked mildly surprised. "When you're finished."

* * *

"My eyes are beginning to cross. How did you endure this for two weeks, Sithli?" Eridis asked later that evening, as they sat in the library amid several stacks of marked books and bundles of parchment.

Eridis had tied her hair back and had the copy of the prophecy Sithli had penned for her in her lap. The margins of the parchment it was written on were heavily filled with Eridis' notes; most of them dismissed theories or new ones. Several empty bags of tea leaves gave testament to the girl's frustration, when nothing else did.

Sithli glanced up from where she sat cozied up to the study's table, bent over her parchment. Her long hair was braided, looped, and pinned up. Unlike Eridis, who wore her failure well, Sithli's nails were all but non-existent from chewing and she had dark circles beneath her eyes. With no more fingernails to nibble at, Sithli had taken to gnawing on her pencils and so all of the charcoal writing utensils were now covered in crescent shaped teeth marks that looked absolutely ghastly.

"What's that you're working on?" Eridis asked, shoving an encyclopedia out of her lap.

"Logics paper."

"Still?" Eridis said, surprised.

"Again." Sithli replied with a sigh. "Master Fell informed me that my first effort was not up to par. You've found nothing at all?"

Eridis shook her head. "Nothing. Not a single thing about any deities or figures that could possibly have been referred to as The Thrice Prince or any of those other impossible titles. I thought for a moment that 'burning sphere' might have something to do with Torak, but that just led me completely astray."

Sithli felt defeated. She'd hoped that with Eridis there, her research would go much quicker but it was turning out to be as futile and difficult as it had been when she'd been searching on her own.

"Why don't we stop for a while? I have to re-submit this paper and it'd be unfair for you to be straining your nerves alone when I was the one who pulled you into it."

Eridis' expression didn't change but her blue eyes sparked with that unmovable attitude that anyone who knew the brunette well enough quickly came to recognize. "No." She said, her tone calm but full of finality. "I'm going to keep looking." She mumbled something about being outwitted by a child's song and reclaimed the encyclopedia she'd unceremoniously shoved from her lap.

Sithli didn't argue and, reluctantly, she devoted her time to correcting her paper. Although she didn't want to admit it, Master Fell had been right, if not generous, in his assessment of her work. It was, to say the least, poorly argued, badly written, and woefully unorganized. Even for her usual half concerned quality of work, it was of very low grade. Glumly she forced herself to sober and treat the paper seriously. Ironically it was her revising which brought their first break through.

It was late afternoon when Sithli burst into number five, clutching her logics paper in one hand and the red leather book in the other. Between then, she and Eridis had all but claimed the study permanently as their own, to the point that blankets and pillow had been moved into the room to make the brief cat naps between pouring over dusty old pages more comfortable. Eridis was in the midst of just such a one when Sithli entered and the sound of the door and the princess' heavy steps jarred the small girl from her light doze.

"Sithli!" Eridis objected sleepily. "Are you at all aware of the _time_?"

"Its four hours past noon."

The small girl stared. "Isn't that strange? I could have sworn I drifted off at five pass midnight." She sat up, dark blue coverlet slipping down her shoulders, yawning drowsily. "Why are you being so noisy?"

"It's funny you should mention time."

"Not funny, ha ha I hope. I'm much too sleeping for funny, ha ha. "

"Funny, apropos." Sithli informed her. She handed over her logics paper. The pages were out of order, with the third on top, half folded so that mid paragraph was prominent. Sithli pointed to it. "Read there."

"'Consequently to assume the supremacy of the race of men over those species, to which we refer as _monsters_- ' " Eridis broke off and glanced up at her friend. "That's atrocious grammar Sithli. No wonder Dame Villette is constantly scolding you."

Sithli gave her a dirty look. "I can do without the critique, thanks. Grammar or epiphany, you can't have both. Keep reading."

Eridis shook her head and returned her attention to the paragraph, " 'to which we refer as _monsters_, would also be to assume the predation of humans to non-humans. The issue of creation and origin is a matter heavily debated among historians and theologians both. In some traditions it is, in fact, humans who were fashioned first by the gods and, later, those creatures called monsters. In other traditions, such as that narrated by the Dalish historian Emse, the genealogy of creation is more complex. Emse, for example, ascertains that the universe came into creation approximately one hundred million years prior to the current century, and that the god Ul followed its creation. And from Ul came the other gods who then gave birth to the world and at once filled it with all the creatures which now inhabit it. By this argument the creation of human and non-human was in fact simultaneous. A feasibly theory if one were to consider the dryads, who—' "

"Stop." Sithli interrupted. "You can stop there."

Eridis looked up, her expression blank. "It's a very good argument, Sithli. I don't see what it has to do with the prophecy."

"You really are sleepy, aren't you? Don't you remember the second to last line of the song?" When Eridis stared at her, uncomprehendingly, Sithli supplied it. "_A hundred millennia beyond the wide world's end._"

The small girl's eyes went very wide. "Emse states that the universe was created a hundred million years ago. A hundred millennia."

Sithli nodded. "They must be connected. But I don't know how. How can one go a hundred millennia? Time travel?"

"No!" Eridis seemed to have suddenly thrown off her drowsiness and now her small frame was practically alive with renewed vigor and excitement. "In one of his writings, Belgarath talks about time and space. Literally that time and space---time and distance are the same thing. Space. Untamed space."

Eridis dove for her copy of the prophecy, while Sithli fought down that feeling of being left behind again. Eridis had broken through something, she could tell, and she didn't want to interrupt for fear of causing the girl to loose her sudden clarity.

"The universe is space, isn't it?" Eridis was saying. "But that means it's also time and distance too. _Time's my constant mistress; And the untamed space my marrow._ The first verse is entirely and ode to the universe. Whatever the prophecy is talking about it seems like it's going to do with the universe and its creation. Oh! I know!" If possible, Eridis' eyes seemed to gleam brighter and she pushed through her stacks of books, searching among them. "I know what the _burning sphere_ is."

"You do?" Sithli had dropped down next to Eridis, staring at her incredulity.

"It's mentioned in that same book where Belgarath talks about time and space. Here!" She pulled a volume from under the stacks. "I didn't think of it because it isn't actually _in_ the text of the book. It's in the description. See." She opened to the second to last page of the volume. There were a few short lines of text there and Eridis read them aloud. " 'Written by Belgarath The Sorcerer, The Most Beloved and Holy Eternal Man, father of Sacred Polgara The Sorceress, and ultimate grandfather of King Belgarion of Riva, Overlord of the Western Nations, and Keeper of the Burning Orb of Aldur.' The _burning sphere_ must be the Orb of Aldur!"

Realization struck Sithli like a physical blow. It was like a wall coming down around some section of her memory and in that moment, several things clicked together. "I know who The Unchosen God is."

Eridis' head came up. "Who?"

She didn't get the chance to respond. At that moment, the door to number five study swung open and Malden strolled into the room. His hands were empty and he had a searching look in his dark eyes that eased when his gaze fell on Sithli and Eridis.

"So you two are here after all."

"Were you looking for us?" Eridis wondered, closing Belgarath's book.

"Generally. Airi, Nathalie, and I were getting lonesome, of course, since the three of you disappeared."

"Three?"

Malden was sweeping a glance around the study and then a frown leapt onto his expression. "Urgar isn't with you?"

It was Sithli who responded this time. "No. It's just been Eridis and I. Why do you ask?"

"He's been missing in action for almost as long as the two of you have. We just assumed that he was trundled up, joining you and Eridis in being studious. You haven't seen him at all?"

Eridis looked worried. Sithli shook her head. "No. He isn't in any of the libraries?"

"Not that I've seen. Maybe he's met a girl in town." Malden sighed. "It's a shame when friendship loses out to a pretty face."

Sithli didn't dare glance at Eridis. It had been months since she and Nathalie deduced their friend's feelings, and they hadn't brought the matter up since then. There was a chance they'd been fleeting and no longer stood, but there was no reason to make Malden suspicious by blatantly inspecting the small girl for signs of jealousy brought on by Malden's hypothesis about Urgar's whereabouts. That didn't mean she wasn't curious though.

"We'll keep an eye out for him." Sithli said.

"Mmm." Malden agreed. He leaned over to glance down at Sithli's paper. "What are you working on?"

"Logics." Sithli half lied.

"Still?"

Her expression became woeful. "Again."


	9. Chapter Nine: Where’s Urgar?

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART ONE: MELCENA_

**Chapter Nine: Where's Urgar?**

Although she'd made the promise to keep an eye out for Urgar mostly because it was the expected thing to say, Sithli found herself doing exactly that nonetheless. Her heightened awareness however soon blossomed into active searching when she failed to locate her Murgo friend by absent glimpse. She found herself consistently distracted from her lectures by studying the students around her, searching for that head of ink black hair among the crowd. In each class she failed to locate him. The same held true for when the determinedly scanned the corridors, the library, and the grounds in search of him. No Urgar.

After several days of this, serious worry descended upon her heavily and she began checking the men's dormitory. Even there, Urgar failed to appear. She knocked on his door several times, but no matter what time of day she came there was no response. Not even the sound of movement from within to suggest that, for whatever reason, he was deliberately ignoring her.

After that particular failure it got so that she went to the tutors. Since she had to turn in her logics paper anyway, and Urgar also took logics at that same hour with her, she spoke to Master Fell first. He was, however, extremely unhelpful.

"If I kept track of every student that didn't turn up in my class, I'd have half the first and second year classes on watch." The older man informed her.

"But he isn't turning up for _any_ class." Sithli protested.

"That isn't an infrequent occurrence. You, for example, have a healthy habit of skipping when it suits you. We tutors _do_ talk to each other, you know." He gave her a pointed look.

Sithli's face turned red from embarrassment as well as annoyance at his lack of concern. "Regardless of his attendance," she said, forcing her voice to remain even, "neither I nor any one else he usually consorts with have seen him anywhere. I knocked on his door and there was no answer.'

Master Fell frowned at here. "This sounds more like a squabble between friends then, doesn't it."

"We didn't squabble." Sithli said from between clenched teeth. That was half true. She had been a bit bad tempered the last time she spoke with Urgar, but he wasn't the type to hold a grudge over something like that. And even if he were to remain upset with her, that was no reason to avoid Eridis, Malden, Airi, and Nathalie as well.

"Perhaps you don't see it as such, but something you see as inoffensive might be very off putting to another individual. If he's ignoring you then the best course is to leave him be. Now then," he folded his hands on his desk. "I have to return to my grading so you are excused."

Sithli didn't leave. "But isn't there the possibility that something has happened to him?"

"Student Sithli." Master Fell said firmly, his patience slipping. "Whether or not Student Urgar has been in attendance, he has, nonetheless, been turning in his assignments in a timely fashion. And, might I add, in far better quality then I've noted in your own work. I can't imagine that, having been severely injured, he'd still find the availability to write and turn in work. Now, as I said, you are _excused_."

Sithli was furious when she returned to number five study. Eridis was already there, seated in one of the deep chairs, and she looked up immediately when the Mallorean princess entered. She remained quiet as Sithli slammed the door shut, spewing curses, and being violent with several of the chair cushions. When her stream of curses ebbed some, Eridis inquired,

"What happened?"

"They all said exactly the same thing to me as Master Fell. Skipping class is normal, I should be more worried about my own attendance and work, and that they've been receiving Urgar's assignments on time and well done. None of them will even listen to argument!"

Sithli launched into another tirade of cursing and when it abated again Eridis spoke. "I'm also very worried now. I went to Urgar's room."

"And he didn't answer the door." Sithli supplied.

Eridis nodded. "So I broke in." Sithli's eyes went wide and she stared at her petite friend in surprise. Eridis didn't blush, instead she looked resolved. "I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think it was an emergency. I was simply going to glance in without even entering. But, Sithli, his room didn't look as if anyone has been in there for _weeks_. There was dust on things and the snacks he hides in his room had gone stale or molded completely. Even if he didn't eat them, the smell was horrible so there's no way he would have ignored them and not thrown the mess away. He couldn't possibly have been back there for at least a week."

Sithli sat down hard in one of the chairs, a grim frown on her lips. "So Urgar hasn't been anywhere on campus for a week at the very least."

"Should we tell the tutors?"

"To what end? They'll probably say that if Urgar chooses not to sleep in his room then that's his own choice. Or that the unseemliness of one student has absolutely nothing to do with them. No," Sithli shook her head. "they're not going to be of any help." Sithli glanced down at the table. The red leather book sat closed atop a stack of papers. "Have you been looking at the prophecy?"

Eridis shook her head. "Not since Malden's visit. I've been too worried about Urgar."

"Me too." Sithli agreed. "The shadows said not to be distracted, but there's no help for it. I believe something _has_ happened to Urgar and it seems like its being left to us to find him. That's going to have to take priority." The small girl looked relieved. Sithli wondered what Eridis would have done if Sithli hadn't chosen Urgar over continuing to decode the prophecy. "I don't know how though."

"You said that all the tutors have been receiving Urgar's assignments in a timely fashion?"

Sithli nodded. "Timelier and better than ever. That alone should be a red flag."

"That means that either Urgar is turning them in or someone is doing it for him. If its someone else then they'd almost have to know something about what happened to Urgar, wouldn't they? I can't imagine that someone just noticed Urgar's absence and decided to do all his work for him for no reason."

Sithli's eyes lit up and she suddenly sat upright in her chair. "Why didn't I think of that! Hold on a moment." She dug her calendar out of her bag and flipped through it. "There's a paper due in western history four days from now. Urgar is also in that class, so he'll be expected to hand one in as well."

"That's perfect. How have the tutors been receiving his assignments? In class with the rest?"

"Dame Villette mentioned something about receiving his last work slipped beneath the classroom door the morning it was due."

"Then whomever is delivering his work must put it there during the night."

Sithli looked over at her friend. "This sounds like a proposal for a stake-out."

"I can't imagine any other course of action."

"Neither can I. Alright. Let's do it."

The days passed quickly and three evenings later, Sithli and Eridis found themselves sleuthing down to the corridors outside of the western history classroom. The halls in the history department were lined with high, thick marble pillars that stretched from the marble floors all the way up towards the high ceilings. In he daylight they were pale pink, shot with veins of black and dark brown. In the dark they were a murky gray color, illuminated only slightly by the moonlight that leaked in through the corridor's windows.

She and Eridis chose one of the pillars out of the way of the windows, where the shadows were deepest. It was well angled, so they could see the classroom door clearly, as well as anyone who approached it. They'd traded in their school robes for darker clothing: trousers and hats, so that they could pose as boys if they were caught. Slumping down in the darkness, they prepared for the wait with nerves on edge.

Despite having forced herself to sleep the entire day in order to prepare, Sithli felt sleepiness creeping over her as the silent night lengthened. It would have helped to have been able to talk to Eridis or even read, but the former was too risky and it was too dark for the latter. She'd almost slipped into a doze when, three hours before dawn, there was the muffled sound of footsteps moving across the marble floor. Eridis hissed Sithli's name in her ear, but the Mallorean princess was already alert. Her heat pounded in her chest, a horse's heavy gallop and she forced her breathing below even as she leaned around the pillar to see.

The figure was no taller than Sithli herself, shrouded from head to toe in a cloak whose color must have been dark, but was indistinguishable in the darkness. It moved briskly down the end of the hall to the classroom door, bent at the waist there and slid something underneath the door. Sithli felt Eridis' hand tighten against her arm. The figure turned, it's hooded face scanning the hall, and then it made its way back down the hall the way it came.

"We have to follow." Sithli whispered as the footsteps became distant. She saw Eridis nod through the shadows and the two slipped from their hiding space, and took after the cloaked figure.

Keeping out of sight was difficult, particularly when the cloaked figure left the department building and moved out into the expansive lawns of the university. Sithli and Eridis relied on the dark of night and the shrubbery to conceal them. Luckily the night was cloudy and only the faintest patches of moon shone through the gray masses that drifted across the dark sky. The figure continued its trek, on passed the other departments and towers, across the rolling hills of the campus, and then finally it entered a building.

"That's the women's dormitory." Eridis said in surprise, as the figure vanished inside.

"You're right." Sithli frowned, her curiosity at its peak. So it was a student after all. "Come on."

Without waiting she took off across the expanse of grass towards the dormitory. Her eagerness made her pace quick, so much so that she nearly ran into the figure as she turned a corner. Eridis' hand caught her arm just in time to pull her back around. From about the corner they watched the figure unlock one of the rooms, slip inside, and close it softly behind them.

"And now?" Eridis asked. She'd lost her hat chasing after Sithli and her brown curls had spilled down around her face, tousled by the night wind.

"I'll knock." Sithli proposed. "I'll make up some excuse, just so we can see who it is. Tomorrow we can go to the tutors with our accusations."

Eridis agreed and Sithli left her to cross to the door of the room the figure had entered. Without waiting to allow her nerves to rise again, she knocked on the door with her knuckles. The sound of occupied silence came from within and Sithli knocked again, louder. At that point there was a scuffling noise and the rattle of something that sounded metallic. A moment later the door was wrenched open.

Sithli's impromptu plan completely flew out the window, her lie dying on her lips as she stared at the pretty face before her, framed by waves of rich gold hair.

"Menary?" She said in shock.

Gray eyes had widened in similar surprise and then cooled immediately in to that haughty, superior expression they always had. "_You_. What do you want?"

"Sithli." Eridis had come around the corner. Her expression was neutral but her eyes sought out Sithli's, questioning.

Menary's face went even colder. "Two of you. I'm not interested in night time visits."

"That's a lie." Sithli said directly. "Where were you just now?"

"What do you mean?"

"We saw you." There was no point in beating around the bush now. Sithli wanted answers and it seemed like whenever that was the case it was always Menary she needed them from. This time, she wasn't going to avoid going to the source. "You were delivering Urgar's paper to Master Lambar, weren't you?"

Menary looked startled again and for a moment she seemed to grapple with something. Finally a wickedly amused smile made her lips curve. "That's true. I don't see why it's your business, though."

"Where's Urgar?" This time it was Eridis who asked.

"How should I know? I don't bother asking where he comes and goes. I simply drop off his assignments for him." Menary lowered her eyelashes deviously. "I've become quite fond of him. He's awfully…vigorous."

Eridis turned red with embarrassment and anger. Sithli didn't believe a word of it. Urgar wouldn't. Not with Menary. He himself had defamed her. Either way Sithli couldn't imagine Menary going to such lengths, even for a lover. And if so, why so late and in such secretive garb?

Her patience gone entirely, she shoved past the blonde girl abruptly, forcing her way into the room. Menary resisted a moment, but stepped aside and let the two girls' entered. Her expression was annoyed, but she held her chin aloft, her gray eyes narrowed to icy points.

"This is invasion of privacy, you know. I can get you expelled for this." She threatened.

Sithli ignored her, eyes searching the room. It was newly furnished. Menary had all but discarded the university's furniture it replaced it with her own. The bed was neatly made, proof that the blonde girl hadn't yet made use of it. It was immaculately clean, to the point that it almost seemed obsessive. Everything was in perfect order. There was a snarl from the corner and Sithli turned to see a large cat with ink black fur. Its fur was on end and its tail was bushed rigid. It had set to snarling and hissing when Menary had moved near the cage. It spat at Menary, but neither clawed nor backed away. Ears flat, it seemed to flinch from her touch as she patted its head, but its legs were limp.

Sithli frowned. Beside her, Eridis said softly. "I've never seen a cat in that humor that didn't try to bite the first had to come near it."

At her words, Menary glanced up. "Do you like my new pet? He's quite handsome."

Sithli stared. "What's the matter with it? It can't move its legs, can it?"

Menary tried to look grave but her eyes betrayed her amusement. "He fell climbing a tree. He'll be alright soon." Under her hand the wedge of the cat's head stirred. Menary moved her fingers soothingly; just enough so that Sithli met its glaring brown eyes. "Now, I think it's time you both left. I don't like people in my room."

Sithli experienced a slight sharpening of her vision. Weariness, hunger, and pique fell away before her sudden surge of anger. In a remote, calm potion of her mind, she thought how odd it was that people spoke of losing one's temper. Ordinarily, she was scarcely aware she had a temper. Now that she could feel it yielding like rotten rope, her temper was vividly present, like another person inside her skin.

With great detachment, she told herself that is was her temper that gave her leisure to examine the variety of her reactions. It was her temper that made time seemed to run so slowly. It was her temper that narrowed her field of vision to those hazel brown eyes. And it was her temper that made Eridis' voice sound far away, more distant than her recollection of her and Urgar's conversation with that maid from The Happy Wench. _I found a dead rat in his unmade bed._

She heard her own voice, icy, as she started towards Menary. "That's not a cat."

Beside her Eridis had gone very still at Sithli's declaration and her head swiveled towards the cat and then Menary. "It can't be…"

Menary's mouth curved with slow satisfaction. "Whatever he once was, he's mine now."

Sithli stood over Menary, so close that she could see Menary's fair hair stir in the breeze that blew through her open window. Then Sithli felt the silk of Menary's hair in her hands, and heard Menary's outraged shriek as Sithli hauled her to her feet. The cat dropped free and fell to the ground a few feet away. Sithli shifted her grip to the blonde girl's shoulders. Her temper had made it hard for her to see. Her vision had shrunk until she could scarcely make out what her hands were doing. What little vision remained, anger tinted red.

Sithli shook Menary until her head banged against the wall. The impact traveled up Sithli's arms. Satisfactory but not perfect. She gathered herself for another try. Menary shrieked again, not a scream of pain, a scream of rage, a shriek with words in it. At once, Sithli felt her body go rigid and she was suddenly jerked off her feet and sent skidding across the floor, into the opposite wall.

Her vision hazed and when it cleared Eridis was at her side. Menary had the black cat again, and a long blade was to its neck. Her hair and face were wild, her eyes narrowed hotly.

"You're going to do exactly as I say or your friend dies." She snarled. "Bring me the prophecy."

Sithli felt like she'd been punched in the gut. How did Menary know about that? What was going on? She couldn't get out words however. Her head had struck the wall first and the dizziness was not abating entirely. When she moved the world swam.

"How do you know about the prophecy?" Eridis asked. Her voice was level and had no inflection. Anyone who didn't know her would think her to be perfectly calm. She stood erect; her hands behind her, but from her angle, Sithli could see her fingers making strange patterns in the air.

Fierce enjoyment was dancing in Menary's fine eyes now. "I know far more about it than you two idiots. I'll destroy it and The Void will be my personal well of power."

"You're insane." Eridis accused in that same, emotionless tone, as if she were a physician diagnosing a patient.

Menary's enjoyment became anger. "Give me the book! Or," she pressed the blade tighter against the black cat's neck. Red appeared like a bright ribbon wetting black fur.

There was a jumble of motion then that Sithli was to dazed to follow at once. Eridis' arm thrust out and she shouted something. As she stepped forward Menary fell back against the wall again, and shrieked in earnest as the tangled silk of her hair suddenly caught fire.

It was not a natural fire, Sithli realized. It gave no heat, no scent of singed hair. It blazed pale gold and green, Menary's wild halo. In its own way, it was beautiful, as cold and strange as the northern lights. Eridis had pulled her hand back, clasping it over her mouth in horror. Menary was screaming. Where was the cat?

Sithli forced her head to move and it throbbed more. Dimly she was aware that, even jarred, her head should have cleared by now. That or she should have been unconscious. Her eyes focus and she saw a limp black lump lying on the ground. Menary had dropped him when she'd caught flame, slicing deeper into the feline's neck in her startlement and pain. Blood leaked out across the floor. Horror rose in her gut. The cat was dying.

Urgar was dying.

_Give him back his form_.  
_O noble princess, you must save the prince_

It was the shadow voices. The ringing in her head made her ears burn and she winced in pain. _How?_ She through the thought back at them.

_You must dream it._

_Dream it?_

_That which is unnatural may be shaped by your dreams._

_How? _She had no strength to argue.

_As you dreamed the snow.  
__We will guide you._

And then Sithli knew what she had to do. The world seemed to darken. Menary and Eridis, the room, everything seemed to fade away. And in the gloom Sithli imagined a black cat. Her ears felt stopped up with cotton. Slowly the cat grew in size. Its limbs lengthened, extended, developed fingers and toes. Its head became a distinguishable oval. The tail shortened till it was gone entirely. The black fur became pale skin. Her head swimming from concussion, Sithli _dreamed_ of a black cat turning into Crown Prince Urgar of Cthol Murgos.

Suddenly cold, suddenly shuddering with cold, Sithli felt the world come to light again. Her vision was clear. Too clear. There was no way to avoid the sight of Menary huddled against the wall, her blonde hair gone, badly burned, screaming still. Eridis was weeping. The cat was gone. An arm's length away, unconscious and naked on the green rug, laid Urgar.

At the sound of soft footfall, Faris looked up. In the doorway stood the Dean, resplendent in his dark green robes. He was flanked by Dame Villette and Dame Cassilda. Sithli remained conscious long enough to see the calm severity with which the observed the scene before them and then, abruptly she blackness stole over her vision and her mind went blank.

* * *

She was some place warm, but empty; adrift on a dark cloud of warm air. She felt weightless and comfortable and the idea that she might not ever want to leave that space of cozy nothingness occurred to her.

_Well that wouldn't do at all, would it?  
__That's the problem with people, you know. Once they get all comfortable they never want to do anything else.  
__You're quite right.  
__Thank you._

Sithli was startled from her drowsy serenity by the voices. They seemed to come from all around her. She realized she was sprawled on her back and so she quickly sat up. The world around her seemed to spin and it was like a light going on. Now she seemed to be in a room where the walls, the ceiling, and even the floor were all a blindingly bright white. The urge was there to slip down again into comforting half-oblivion, so that when the shadows began to move upon the walls in ways disallowed by the light she did not know whether she was waking or dreaming. Sharp-defined human shadows without human bodies to cast them, slipping and sliding across the walls and over one another like whispering leaves.

_Deep in the wilderness there lived a fearful beast who knew nothing but hunger. _And the taller shadow formed a fanged creature with what might have been her hands. _One day, a beautiful princess came upon the beast and witnessed the ravenous thing devouring the old witch who lived in the wood. _

'_Oh, great and powerful beast'_ The other shadow spoke now, her voice high and musical in imitation of the "beautiful princess", '_You must truly be the strongest of all things to have so easily gobbled up such a powerful witch. Although you could eat me and for a time abate your hunger, instead hear my words. I am cunning and may roam where you may not. Therefore, let us profit each other. I shall deliver to you as much all that you wish to consume and more. If you wish it, I shall aid you in eating the whole wide world. And in return you must give me your great and terrible power.'_

A shadowy princess embracing a shadow monster, till everything became a blotch of darkness on the white wall. That darkness spread until it took over the whole room again, plunging the bright gleam of the walls into lightless darkness again.

_And so the princess went out into the wide world to pave the way for the beast's ravening. To prepare for the fantastic and the astonishing and the good of the world to be devoured by the beastial void. A hundred millennia beyond the end of the world._

"What's going on?" Sithli asked the darkness. Was she dreaming?

_You can't stay at school anymore, dreaming princess.  
__You must obey the prophecy._

"Me? But I—Eridis and I—have deciphered almost all of it. What else do I need to do?"

_Silly princess. Did you think unraveling the mystery was your only duty?  
__You are one of the integral pieces. You are one of whom the prophecy speaks.  
__To go beyond the end of the world._

Sithli's memory came flooding back. As if whatever had been keeping her from thinking too deeply had suddenly released its grip.

"Menary! Why did Menary want the prophecy?"

_We've told you already.  
__She wants The Void to eat the world. Eat the world.  
__She takes what The Void eats. Takes what it eats.  
__And turns it into power for herself. _

"What's 'The Void'?" Sithli asked in frustration. "Why can't you just speak sensibly?"

_We can't. It has to all be a game for us.  
__Songs are games. So we put prophecy in a song.  
__Stories are games. So we put truth in a story.  
__Dreams are games. So we gave the heroine dreams to shape the unnatural._

"You keep talking about dreaming. What does that mean? How did I return Urgar to his proper form?"

_You dreamed.  
__With your dreams, you can cause the unnatural. You can undo the unnatural.  
__But be cautious. When you dream, your body is vulnerable. Be not struck down when you go._

"Go?"

_To the west, O dreaming princess.  
__To the Unchosen God. Send him to tourney.  
__To The Architect. Complete your company.  
__Then on past the edge of the world._


	10. Chapter Ten: Pawns of Prophecy

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART ONE: MELCENA_

**Chapter Ten: Pawns of Prophecy**

Sithli awoke with a start to dawn light spilling in through a pair of high windows, bathing her in an orange glow. She was in a bed and in the morning light she recognized the medical wing in the university's main building. The room was distinguishable by the long rows of curtained beds. The ones on the bed next to her were pulled back and when Sithli glanced over she met Urgar's brown eyed gaze.

"It's about time you woke up." He said casually.

"I see you got your clothes back." Sithli replied, equally casual, as if nothing out of the usual had transpired.

Urgar smiled and plucked at the front of the white tunic he was wearing. His hair was messed, his skin was sickly pale, and there was a blood stained bandage on his neck, but he looked in fair shape all things considered. Although his manner seemed unchanged by his time as a cat, his smile didn't reach his eyes, which were heavy. Sithli glanced around the room.

"Where's Eridis?" Sithli asked.

"She was called to The Dean an hour ago. No doubt to give him the same explanation she gave me once I came to."

"And Menary? Is she…" Sithli left the question to hang.

Urgar's eyes turned very grim, his mouth becoming a hard line, and he shook his head. "Dead? No. Or at least, not the last time anyone saw her. She escaped while she was with the physician. She was badly injured though. That hair she was so proud off is gone now and her left ear was practically burned away."

There was no sympathy at all in Urgar's voice. Sithli similarly found that she couldn't dredge up any either. "What happened to you?"

The Murgo boy sighed heavily and pressed a hand to the side of his head. "I was careless and a bit too arrogant. I have no excuse. Even suspecting what she could do, I didn't act cautiously. It was foolish of me."

"Suspecting what she could do?"

Urgar turned his head to give her a serious look. "Do you remember what that girl from The Happy Wench told us? About that sailor, Maxim, and his broken arm."

"Yes."

"Well, I noticed that she specified that the physician was a 'her' and not a 'him'. There aren't that many female physicians in this area. In fact, there are only two that deal in anything other than herbal cures. So I went to see them. The first one I spoke to told me that the maid knocked that night, but that she refused to go because she was pregnant and wasn't suppose to be putting to much strain on herself. The other I went too see had died two days prior to when I visited. Her husband told me she'd been severely ill for several days, to the point that she hadn't even been able to get out of bed so there's no way she could have called on Maxim that night. That roused my suspicions even more so I started asking around the town more. Finally I found a beggar who told me he'd seen the maid bring a tall girl in a cloak to The Happy Wench. He said she kept her hood up, but it slipped once when she stumbled. He told me she was a fairly young girl, very pretty with long gold hair. After she left The Wench, he said he saw her head back up the main road to the university."

"Menary." Sithli said, as ice slid down her spine. She hadn't thought she could be any more surprised that day. It turned out she was wrong. "So she posed as a physician, went up to Maxim's room, changed him the way she did you, and then killed him."

Urgar nodded grimly. "I didn't have any solid proof that it was her, but Nathalie said that she knew the sailor so even if my guess was wrong, she had _some_ connection to him. I went to confront her. One second I was making accusation and the next I had four legs and fur. She kept me in her room. Sometimes she liked to taunt me, other times she enjoyed treating me like a pet. Sometimes she ignored me completely and threw tantrums." He smiled at Sithli tightly. "Those were largely your fault."

"Mine!?"

"Nathalie was right, she doesn't like you. She _hates _you."

"Good. The feeling is mutual." Sithli said, with heat.

"She wanted that prophecy you found. Badly."

Sithli sat up very straight and stared at Urgar. "How much did Eridis tell you?"

"Everything. Even more than Menary inadvertently told me." He smiled at her startled expression. "She'd rant when she threw her tantrums. About some prophecy, about you getting in her way, about ruling the world. Sometimes she'd talk about getting more power from something she called The Void. I didn't understand any of it until Eridis told me what the two of you had been up to while I was missing. What's wrong?" Urgar asked abruptly, when he saw the expression on her face.

His mention of 'The Void' had made her remember the strange dream with the shadows and their games. But it hadn't been just a game. It had been instruction. "I need to talk to Eridis."

"It's about the prophecy isn't it? You're leaving the university." He smiled in amusement when she looked over at him again. "You talking in your sleep."

"You're the one who originally found the prophecy. You made a melody for it, so you should know, roughly, how it goes. I'm one of them. I'm The Dreaming Princess. They kept throwing hints at me. I was so overwhelmed at dealing with a prophecy at all that I didn't even think to wonder if I was _in _it."

"Where are we going?"

"West. I'm supposed to go west to tell—" She stopped and gaped at him in astonishment. "What do you mean _we_?"

"That's obvious." Urgar said flippantly, reclining against his pillows. "I'm going with you."

Sithli frowned. "I appreciate the sentiment Urgar, but I already dragged Eridis into this. I can't do the same to you."

"Technically I'm the one who started it. Like you said I _did_ find the prophecy first. Second of all, it isn't you dragging me. Eridis showed me the prophecy and it says I'm supposed to go with you."

"It does not!" She protested.

"Mmhmm." He leaned over and from the table on the opposite side he picked up a small, red leather book. The sound of old, dusty pages being turned was like the sound of sand shifting. "_The Thrice Prince, The Witch, The Dreaming Princess, And the Beloved Architect, Summoned are to tourney._" He read.

"So?"

"You're The Dreaming Princess. I'm The Thrice Prince."

Sithli stared at him. "How do you figure that?"

Urgar shrugged casually, closing the book. "You actually happen to be looking at someone with connections to _three_ royal houses." He said off handedly, polishing his nails on the front of his shirt.

Sithli frowned at him, finding her old exasperation at Urgar's deliberate difficulty returning. It felt pleasant, comforting to slips so easily back into familiar patterns. "Urgar, I have spent the last several weeks dealing with obscure messages and backwards phrases. So if you don't spell this out clearly for me, I can't be held accountable for my actions."

The Murgo boy laughed. "If you insist. You already know that I'm the crown prince of Cthol Murgos. My mother, Queen Prala, is a princess of the House of Cthan, so by descent I'm a prince of that same house. What isn't known outside of the family, however, is that my father's father wasn't Taur Urgas. Actually he was Prince Khellan of Drasnian, the younger brother of the late King Rhodar. My father is the half brother of Prince Kheldar of Drasnia. Strictly speaking that makes me a member of the Drasnian royal family." Sithli gaped at him. Urgar grinned. "It's a bit of a stretch, but that means I do happen to be a prince, three times over. It's a wonder this bandage on my neck is stained red instead of bright blue."

"If Menary had known that," Sithli said. "she would have killed you."

Urgar grinned. "I imagine she'll be very upset with herself when she finds out, don't you think?"

Sithli caught his hilarity and she grinned back. "I certainly hope so."

"That does, however, still leave The Witch and The Beloved Architect."

"Me." Neither Sithli nor Urgar had even heard Eridis enter until she spoke, gliding across the floor towards them. Her face was serious, gave almost, and she looked very resigned.

"You?" Urgar asked.

Eridis nodded. "I'm The Witch. _You _should know Urgar." She said to him pointedly. "You've been suspicious of my advanced education for months now."

"I thought you were learning sorcery." Urgar replied. "Not witchcraft."

"I didn't have the aptitude for sorcery, but it was clear I displayed a talent of some sort. That's why The Dean sent me out to wait at the base of the tower; it was a communion with nature of sorts. The earth spoke to me and that was when I realized what my brand of talent was."

"Wait a moment." Sithli interrupted, feeling as if she'd been left behind. "Is there a difference between sorcery and witchcraft?"

"Yes." It was Eridis who answered. "We've poured over more than enough of the works of Belgarath and Polgara and Beldin to know how sorcery functions. Witchcraft is a very different sort of talent. It's rooted in the natural world. Aside from that it often requires incantations, ceremonies, sometimes ingredients or preparation. It also has more limits. Witchcraft is rooted in the earth, the natural world, and the supernatural only as it pertains to the natural world."

Sithli sighed. "I don't think I follow."

Eridis smiled patiently. "It's hard to explain." She shook her head. "It's strange to think I spent several weeks researching my own destiny."

"You two don't have to go." Sithli said as a wave of guilt rocked her. Even as she said the words, however, she knew that she was wrong. The look that her friends gave her said the same thing.

"After the time I spent on that ridiculous song, I'd go along for the sake of curiosity alone." Eridis said firmly.

Urgar released a long, tragic breath. "I suppose there's no way for me to slip out now. At least my title is flattering. The Witch makes you sound fearful Eridis."

"Speaking of that," Eridis said, casting a baleful look at the Murgo boy before turning to Sithli. "you said you know who the prophecy is speaking of when they say The Unchosen God?"

"Yes. I suspected when you connected the _burning sphere _to Aldur. Now that they told me to go west I'm sure of it."

"What do you mean 'they told me to go west'?" Urgar asked.

Sithli groaned. She had completely forgotten to tell them about her dream. Things were moving so fast, she barely had the time to keep everything in order. Her gaze moved to Urgar. "Did Eridis tell you about my shadow visitors?"

"She told me what she could." He replied, sharing a glance with Eridis before looking back to Sithli. "Since she doesn't understand it all that well I imagine I understand it even less."

"Alright then, let's start from there." She spent the next several minutes bringing Urgar up to date with what he'd missed in the passed weeks, and Eridis to what had transpired during her dream.

When she was done, Urgar whistled. "Complex. Then this…dreaming is how you broke Menary's enchantment?"

"That's what they told me." Sithli replied. "I don't fully understand what they mean by dreaming and they wouldn't tell me anything that wasn't a riddle."

"Go west, was fairly straight forward." Eridis chimed in.

"Which is where we'll find whomever The Beloved Architect is." Sithli said. "Someone else who'll be dragged into this mess."

"It's not as if you're the one who chose them…us." Urgar said, lifting an eyebrow. "You should really leave off feeling guilty. Eridis and I wouldn't let you go alone regardless. We are your friends. We're also exceptionally nosy. But it's probably mostly because we're your friends."

"We'd have to leave the university anyway." Eridis added. Sithli and Urgar both looked up at her.

"Why's that?" Sithli wondered.

Eridis look startled. "Didn't I mention? We've all been expelled. The three off us—four if you count Menary, although she's already fled. The Dean expects us to be away from campus by noon."

* * *

It was half past five; Sithli, Urgar, and Eridis had set them selves up at an inn in town called The White Fleece and had already hired a boat to take them across to the mainland. The boat was scheduled to leave that evening and from Peldane they could hire a carriage to take them across to the Dalasian coast and from there travel north by sea to Mallorea. Sithli had mapped their route, while Urgar took charge of hiring the boat and seeing their luggage safely moved.

After Eridis' announcement of their expulsion, Sithli had made an attempt to see The Dean but had been refused admittance to his office. In the end she'd been forced to pack up her room and transport her belongings down into town and off the university lawns.

She was feeling guilty as she observed the path she'd planned. They had chosen not to say goodbye to Malden or Nathalie or Airi. Goodbyes would take up too much time they couldn't sacrifice and would be full of questions that none of them could answer. Even worse she knew her friends would want to follow, even if it meant abandoning their own education. That thought doubled her guilt, even why it made her more resolute to leave before the trio discovered they were leaving.

They'd written a letter, she, Urgar, and Eridis, and left it for Malden whom they knew would share it with the other two. It was apologetic at best and not very explanatory, but there wasn't much justification that they could honestly give and it felt wrong to use lies.

Sunset was approaching and she, Urgar, and Eridis were all gather in the room they'd rented, preparing to depart from Melcena when the soft knock came at the door. Urgar answered it and the maid on the other side curtsied nervously.

"There's a man downstairs who asked me to fetch ye." The maid told them.

The three of them exchanged glances. "A man?" Urgar asked.

The maid nodded. "An older gentleman. I believe he came from the university. He's wearing scholar's robes."

Again they glanced at each other. Sithli sighed and set her map aside, rising from her chair determinedly. "We might as well. At worst it might one of the tutors wanting us to turn in final assignments."

The maid led them down to the lower floor of the inn, into one of the sitting rooms. The fading sunlight streamed in through the windows, illuminating the rooms in orange light. As they entered the pallor Sithli saw the man sitting alone by the window, dressed in the long robes the scholars wore, and nursing a cup of tea. He had a sober face and there was a glint of steel in his manner. It was The Dean.

Surprise brought Sithli up short and she realized, belatedly, that it had done the same to her companions. The Dean, as if sensing their arrival, turned towards them. Despite what had passed, his customary expression of calm indifference was still in place.

"Don't just stand there." He said placidly. "Sit down, the three of you."

After months, it was almost instinct to obey. The chairs of The White Fleece were deep, ornamentally upholstered, but not very comfortable. Sithli rigidity as she sat, however, was not entirely due to the chair. Urgar and Eridis sat on either side of her and The Dean directly across. It was like being at inquisition, but Sithli wondered why she should feel so nervous; she'd already been expelled, what more could be done?"

"I imagine my calling on you is a surprise, considering your summary dismissal from the university." He said directly, sweeping a look over the three of them. "I received the full transcript of the events that transpired and it seems to me that the brunt of the blame falls on the shoulders of Menary Cacoelle."

"If you know that," Sithli said without thinking, "then why were Eridis, Urgar, and I also expelled? Why Urgar at all? If anything he was merely the victim."

"That's insulting." Urgar said out of the corner of his mouth. "I _hate_ being 'merely' anything."

The Dean gave them a severe look. "One might have wished you had grasped the subtleties of language in the time you spent at the university." He reproved them. The scolding tone was so nostalgic that Sithli almost smiled. She saw Urgar also stifling a curving of her lips. "You were expelled because you cannot remain at Melcena."

"Do you know?" Eridis spoke. Her back was very straight and her demeanor had that unruffled poise that only Eridis could affect at such a moment. She was, in Sithli's opinion, a true student of the university.

The Dean looked at her. "As one of the Talents of the university, you should know best that there are certain resources at campus that allow me to have information others might not." His gaze passed to Sithli then Urgar and back again. "I may not know exactly what it is you three are embroiled in, but I know it is gravely important. I ignored my instincts prior, in allowing Menary to progress where she should not have. She showed great promise and so, despite complaints and indications of her viciousness of mind, I allowed her to advance her studies into areas of sorcery. I erred. Grievously, it seems."

"Menary is a sorceress then?" Urgar asked. "And not a witch, like Eridis?"

Eridis looked at him. "No. Witchcraft can't be used for transmutation of that kind."

"That's true." The Dean agreed. "But it's clear that her sorcery had advanced beyond what she was instructed in at the university. Her brand of magic as well it's also far different than any other sorcerer or sorceress—any other magic user—I've ever come across. Sorcerers draw their power from within themselves. Witches take it from the natural earth. Menary, however, seems to draw from another source entirely."

"The Void." Sithli murmured and saw both Eridis' and Urgar's expression turn grim. She looked up at The Dean. "Do you know where Menary's gone?"

"No. When I sent people out to search for her I was informed that she'd taken a ship from the harbor this morning. As far as I can ascertain she was headed to the northwest." The Dean frowned slightly. "I won't ask exactly what's going on. It is, I believe, better left unknown by those such as I. For that reason I've announced your expulsion. It's the only cover for an abrupt and mass departure from school." Sithli had not thought of that. She felt the feeling of resentment and injustice that she hadn't even recognized dissipated.

The Dean had turned his attention to Eridis now. "Only a few years ago we allowed only men to study at the university. You are, however, proof that our decision to allow women to enter the university was well made. I regret that necessity has required you to leave are halls and I hope that we have adequately prepared you for the task you go to." The Dean looked at Sithli and Urgar. "Has adequately prepared all of you." He set down his tea cup and rose to his feet then. "I won't keep you any longer. I'm certain you will wish to leave as soon as possible."

Sithli, Urgar, and Eridis had also risen and Sithli was surprised to feel a rush of affection for the old, serious face man in front of her. "Thank you." She said simply. There was nothing more to say.

To her amazement The Dean smiled at her and then he bowed to the three of them. "Your imperial highness. Your royal highness. Lady Eridis." He said by way of farewell, before leaving the inn.

It had been months since she had heard 'your imperial highness' and the title had a complete finality to it. Students of the University of Melcena had no need for rank or its trappings. With a deep pang of regret she realized that she was no longer Student Sithli. She was, once again, Imperial Crown Princess Sithli of Mallorea.

They left The White Fleece a scant few minutes after sun down and from the deck of a ship called _The Winnow_, they watched the coast of Melcena fade against the night sky as the stars illuminated the sky over head. Urgar had left them to pay the captain and now he emerged out on deck again to join her and Eridis against the railing.

"We'll be in Peldane soon. Did you want to sleep at an inn or get an immediate start?" He asked Sithli.

"Let's get as far as we can tonight. I want to make it to Mal Zeth within the month." She breathed in the mild night air. "I'm glad it's spring. Winter would have made it miserable."

"That was probably deliberately timed." Eridis observed, her arm dipped down towards the smooth waters below them. "Is Mallorea as far west as we go?"

Sithli shook her head. "No. I need to talk to my parents and to Eriond. It will be easy to get to our ultimate destination that way."

"Which is?" Urgar prompted.

"Riva." Sithli said.

"We're going to Aloria? What's in Riva?"

"Crown Prince Geran. The Unchosen God."

- **END PART ONE** -


	11. Chapter Eleven: The City of Tol Honeth

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART TWO: TOLNEDRA_

**Chapter Eleven: The Imperial City of Tol Honeth**

Crown Prince Geran of Riva, all too aware of his responsibilities as a guest, saw with dismay that there were loose bits of tea leaf in the bottom of his cup. Geran was not easy to alarm. He had no objection to tea leaves as such, but their presence made it probable that his hostess would once again try her dainty, inexorable hand at telling his fortune.

Princess Eldanne, the petite and gentle wife of the Varrob, crown prince of Tolnedra and son of Emperor Varana, his legal uncle, cultivated parlor fortune-telling as an excuse to bring out some of her intuitions, her observations, and on rare occasions, what amounted to impertinent remarks. Fragile, blonde, and as fashionable as the wife of an imperial crown prince could be, Eldanne's refined exterior concealed a lively appreciation of the absurd. That she could sometimes behave with boundless absurdity herself was no small part of her charm.

Geran liked Eldanne. He appreciated the hospitality shown to him by both his legal cousins and his mother's adoptive brother, the emperor. But he was most comfortable with Eldanne, and he felt quite sure that the sense of companionship was returned. In her, he found and appreciative audience for any reminiscences or observations he cared to make. She was also the sole person with whom he could speak to without worrying about coming up with logical rational for thing which had none at all. Although Tolnedran by birth, Eldanne had grown up in Arendia and, as such, lacked the characteristic Tolnedran skepticism.

Still, in the past six months Geran had put up with Eldanne's examination of his handwriting, her analysis of the numerical value of the letters in his name, and an inspection of the bumps on his head that made his suppress a shudder every time he thought of it. Princess Eldanne's powers of divination had revealed that Geran was an individual of keep perception, that he would take a long journey over water, marry well, and have seven children. Her evaluation of his handwriting was accurate enough to make Geran reluctant to surrender any more samples.

Enough was enough. Since his arrival at Tolnedra six months before, Geran's experience of the local etiquette had given him the confidence to brave most social perils. Afternoon tea was well within his capabilities. Impromptu fortunetelling was not. Geran resolved to drink his tea with such fervor and dedication there would be nothing left in the cup to read. As Geran took a deep breath and prepared to polish off his tea, leaves and all, the parlormaid joined them.

"Lady Melisende has arrived, your highness."

Princess Eldanne put her cup down on its saucer with such uncharacteristic force that the porcelain chimed in protest. "_Who_? That is, which Lady Melisende?"

"From Arendia, your highness."

Eldanne looked askance at the maid. "Goodness. How extraordinary. Set another place at the table and ask the cook to cut a few more sandwiches. And a fresh kettle. I'll be there in a moment." Eldanne turned to Geran, eyes wide, to explain. "Lady Melisende is the daughter of a Mimbrate baron. She and I were quite close while I was in Arendia."

"An Arend?" Geran exclaimed. "That is, I meant to say, how interesting."

Eldanne looked puzzled by his response but continued, "I haven't seen her for years and years. It almost seems more likely that my great-uncle left his women in Nadrak to call on us than that Melisende should visit. Excuse me, please."

Grateful for the unexpected reprieve, Geran used the precious minute or so of solitude after Eldanne's departure to conceal the contents of his teacup in a brass pot that held a substantial aspidistra. When his sleeve brushed against the foliage, he roused a beetle from its afternoon nap. The insect flew low over the table, rose to an altitude just out of swatting range, and set itself to veer around the room for the rest of the day. After watching its erratic flight for several circuits of the room, Geran helped himself to a few sugar cubes from the bowl. He wasted two shots before he got the hang of the insect's abrupt changes of speed and direction, but the third sugar cube closed its account. Geran nailed the beetle on the wing at three paces, exactly over the tea tray. The corpse missed the milk pitcher with half an inch to spare and landed, legs to the sky, between the teapot and the sugar bowl. Uncomfortably aware that there was no proper etiquette associated with freelance insect extermination, Geran retrieved the evidence. He deposited the dead beetle and the sugar cubes on top of the tea leaves in the aspidistra pot and resumed his seat.

Geran was watching the progress of the afternoon sunlight across the elaborate carpet when his hostess rejoined him. In Eldanne's wake was a woman somewhere in her late teens, a couple of years or so younger than Geran himself. She had clear gray eyes and smooth, yellow blonde hair coiled and pinned into a large knot. Only a tendril here and there betrayed that she'd just taken off her hat. Her gray gown, of good material and elegant cut, showed little sign of the dust of the road, but her half boots did. Lady Melisende had apparently traveled a considerable distance. Geran rose as Eldanne performed the introductions and the maid arrived with the new place setting and a fresh supply of provisions.

"Melisende, may I present his highness, Crown Prince Geran of Riva? He's His Imperial Majesty's nephew and he's been visiting here in Tolnedra for a time. Geran, allow me to present Lady Melisende of Arendia."

"Milady." Geran said politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Melisende made the proper reply and took her seat. The maid withdrew. Introductions successfully concluded, Eldanne sat and devoted herself to meeting her guests' need for tea and sandwiches.

Melisende removed her gloves and folded them in her lap. She regarded Geran with interest as he returned to his seat. "If I might be so bold, how long hath thou been visiting in Tolnedra, your highness?"

Geran couldn't help smiling a little. "About five months now, I've been imposing on Eldanne's hospitality." He inspected his teacup before he took a sip. No leaves. Maybe his luck had turned.

"And you, Melisende." Eldanne said, looking up at the blonde girl. "I've not heard from you in ages. Not even a single letter, even after I got married. I've seen Mandaran even more recently than I did you."

The Mimbrate lady's gray eyes widened and she pressed a hand to her chest, her expression full of worry and woe. "Dearest Eldanne, never say thou art wroth with your loving friend for having been absent so long. The thought that mine closest and most beloved friend is unhappy with me will cause me to collapse with misery and regret; on my heart I swear it. How cruel of thou to punish me with such baleful words. I do believe thou dost attempt to incite me to jealousy, mentioning that my dear brother hath had the honor and privilege to hold discourse with thee before I. What envious punishment shall I plot out for him now? Send him a dress of fire perhaps? Oh, but that would make him much too fair and all the more alluring. Bribe a huntsman to abandon him in the forest? Ah, but just think if he be discovered by seven dwarves charmed by his rosy cheeks." She affected a dramatic expression, flinging an arm across her forehead. "But now just look what thou hast incited me to. I have utterly disgraced myself before thine royal cousin. His highness shall think me the most waspish and wrathful of women, I'm just certain he shall."

Geran might have groaned during her pretty speech if it had not been for the manners that his mother and aunt had steadfastedly drilled into him. He smiled politely, prepared the humor her. Geran had found, as most did, that Arends, particularly Mimbrate Arends, tended to be outrageously long winded and florid in their speech. More often than not it was easy to completely lose track of the point of a statement while in the midst of it.

To his surprise, however, Eldanne pursed her lips and gave the Lady Melisende an extremely exasperated look. "_Must_ you do that?"

The blonde haired Mimbrate lady blinked at their hostess innocently. "Do what, dearest Eldanne? I canst not imagine what thou mean."

Eldanne frowned at Melisende and then turned to Geran. "Don't be fooled. Whenever she wants to avoid discussing an issue, she will go into that ornate monologue."

"Eldanne!" The Mimbrate lady gasped, as if shocked and appalled by the accusation. She turned to Geran and tried to look serious. "I haven't any idea what she means your highness, thou really must believe me." Though her eyes, gleaming with mirth, said quite clearly that he shouldn't believe her at all. Geran warmed to her just a bit.

"Don't think you've successfully distracted from the subject, Melisende." Eldanne said pointedly.

The blonde girl laughed cheerily. "I do wish you wouldn't be cross with me, Eldanne. I am here now am I not? And we shall enjoy a nice long visit, during which I am entirely at your disposal." She grinned charmingly. "Only please don't dispose of me."

Geran looked at her. "Your manner of speak changed just now, didn't it?"

Melisende covered her mouth with a delicate hand, lips rounding in a little 'O'. "Do forgive me, your highness. Its Eldanne fault entirely. She makes me forget myself so. Shall we change the topic? How art thine royal father and mother?"

Geran's expression became startled. "You know my parents?"

The blonde girl's head tipped to the side a fraction, looking curious. "Naturally. Surely thou knowest thine father was my mother's legal guardian prior to her marriage to my father? Furthermore my father is the mighty champion of thine royal mother, the Queen Ce'Nedra."

Geran's eyes went very wide as something clicked in his head. "You're Lord Mandorallen's daughter!"

"Of course she is, Geran." Eldanne confirmed, frowning a bit to herself. "Didn't I mention that?"

He gave his cousin-in-law a bitter look. "No. I'm afraid it must have slipped your mind." He looked at the Mimbrate girl again, embarrassed. "I apologize, Lady Melisende."

She laughed a pretty little laugh. "Nay, your highness. We never had occasion to meet so it's expected that thou should know me not." Her smile became sly and her voice dropped to a whisper. "And indeed, I believe thine lack of recognition hath successfully rescued me from receiving a tongue lashing from our beloved imperial princess for mine long absence."

"I'm glad I could be of service." He replied politely.

"What are you two murmuring about?" Eldanne asked, frowning at them suspiciously.

Melisende gave her a wide eyed look. "Why, how great our love for thou art, dearest Eldanne. So much so that I came a thousand miles simply to see thee."

"Oh stop that." Eldanne scolded. "You might have sent some hint that you were coming, you know."

Surprised, Melisende paused in the methodical demolition of a cucumber sandwich. "I certainly might have. I might have neglected to do so; tis true I am quite capable of it. But in this instance, I am not guilty, upon my honor. I sent a letter from Cloten yesterday."

Eldanne frowned. "You did? How extraordinary. I wonder if someone forgot to mention it to me. No, the staff wouldn't have."

"Letters go astray sometimes. Not often, I grant. And where hast thou hidden thine imperial husband, your gentle Robin?"

It was Eldanne's turn to look reproachful. "You know Varrob hates it when you call him that." Melisende merely smiled and took her time about selecting the next sandwich from the assortment before her. "He is at a reception this afternoon. His imperial majesty is entertaining the new Vice Chancellor and two cabinet ministers and Varrob is there to help him. The plan is to establish warmer relations between policy makers and those who carry out the policy. I quote." Eldanne gave Geran a sidelong glance of mischief, and then added. "Geran is here to keep me company while they are busy making their relations more warm."

The Mimbrate girl was the picture of innocence as she thought this statement over. "Goodness. Luckily they should have nary a trouble on a day such as this." After a pensive moment she asked, "Which group doth gentle Robin think he's in? He's the imperial prince, of course, but also a general. The policy makers, I suppose?"

"Not at all. As if there could be any question. He even still attends the War College, when he has the time to. Geran has been taking classes there as well, during his visit. He's proved to be a most apt pupil, from what I hear tell."

"Is that so?" Melisende wondered, her gaze swinging to him.

"Only partly." Geran confessed. "I'm no good with the history, but I've been given high marks for logistics and problem solving."

"Surely that is more important than history." The blonde girl said. "The value of knowing history is to learn from it. What point is there in being well versed in old problems if thou canst pose no solution to them?"

Geran was startled by the complex remark. "That's true," he agreed. "Was history a large portion of your education, Lady Melisende?"

"My education? Not exactly. My education consisted of very different topics."

"Such as?" He was curious now.

Prompt came the reply, as the gleam of humor reappeared beneath Melisende's gravity. Not for a moment did she seem to entertain the notion of giving him a simple answer. "Oh, the Dowager's Arithmetic: ambition, beatification, distraction, deception, and derision."

Geran could tell she was quoting from something. It was a sensation he often had at the Military Academy, when an allusion was being made to something that the speaker thought must be as familiar as the alphabet. Nine out of ten times whatever was being alluded to was so far beside the point it wasn't worth the breath it took to explain it. The tenth time the allusion generally turned out to be too clever, or too strained, to make sense to him. Geran had learned it was faster and more interesting to wait and ask Varrob or one of his friends to explain later. Either way, letting things pass unquestioned saved him the effort of trying to look interested in the resulting clarification.

So Geran let the gleam in the Lady Melisende's eyes go unchallenged. He was rapidly beginning to suspect that the lady was far cleverer than she pretended to be.

"Doth Riva not have a military academy of its own?" The blonde girl was wondering.

"Not a formal one." Geran replied. "Alorns tend to learn about fighting through hands-on practice."

"Arends art of the same mind." Melisende said with a smile, casting Eldanne a sly look. "Trust the Tolnedrans to go about it in a civilized fashion."

"Let's not go making cultural jokes, shall we." Eldanne scolded. "There's plenty of ammunition on both sides."

Melisende gave the imperial princess a look of wide eyed innocence. "What doth thou mean, dear Eldanne? I was praising your people, of course."

"Just like it would be praise if I started making remarks about Arendish notions of nobility?"

"It's true, we art indeed the noblest peoples in all the world." The blonde girl said, sighing with dramatic pride. "So noble we make doth make everyone else's teeth hurt."

"Speaking of celebrations." Eldanne interjected.

Melisende gave her a wide eyed look. "Were we speaking of them?"

"We certainly are now. Your timing is absolutely flawless, Melisende. You've arrived just in time to attend the Vice Chancellor's ball."

"Oh, I couldst not possibly presume." The blonde girl said, fluttering a hand. "He did not invite me, after all."

"Nonsense. You must go, since you're here. Geran here has no one to escort, isn't that so?" The imperial princess swung her attention towards him.

He cleared his throat. "No, I don't."

"You see." Eldanne declared triumphantly. "It's quite perfect."

"In that case," Melisende replied. "It shalt be my greatest pleasure and honor to attend."

"Excellent!"

The parlormaid joined them again, this time bearing a sealed letter on her tray. Eldanne added, "Here's your letter at last, Melisende. You probably put the wrong name."

"I did not."

"Your penmanship, I suppose. No wonder it was delayed." Eldanne opened the letter ad read. In a moment she looked up. "I understand the part about inviting yourself for a visit of indefinite duration. I understand the part about hoping to be here in time for the midday meal. But what in the world do you mean by 'Imperial Decree 3827; final preposition'?"

" 'We will lose little by our generosity.' " Geran smiled crookedly at the stares this earned him from Eldanne and Melisende. "From the declaration made Ran Horb II after the creation of Sendaria. I do pay _some_ attention to history."

"I'm glad someone knows the reference," Melisende said. "I looked it up specifically for the occasion."

Eldanne shook her head. "You're a strange girl, Melisende."

The blonde girl's good cheer was unimpaired. "Odd, that's what my family always says."


	12. Chapter Twelve: At Tol Honeth

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART TWO: TOLNEDRA_

**Chapter Twelve: At Tol Honeth**

Geran left the imperial palace to walk back to his rooms down in the city. Although he'd naturally been extended an invitation to stay in the palace, and even had for several months, Geran soon found that he preferred a separate residence. For one thing, the imperial palace of Tolnedra was a far more rigid and strict place than the citadel back at Riva. In Riva when he insisted on getting dressed on his own the servants let him. In Tolnedra when they insisted, they _insisted_. Morning meals were formal, mid day meals were formal, evening meals were lavish. Aside from that as soon as the nobles and ladder climbing officials discovered this new, available route to imperial favor Geran soon found he got little, if any, break from unwanted visitations. The only ones more persistent then the noblemen were the noblewomen. After one ambitious young lady managed to slip into his room, Geran rather firmly insisted that he'd be better off in other lodgings.

The day was bright and warm as he excused himself and left Eldanne and the Lady Melisende to their reunion. Only a brisk south-west wind kept it from being unpleasantly hot. The wind was insistent, shoving him along, as if it thought he should be off doing something useful. Yet he had nothing to do, useful or otherwise, until dinner.

To Geran, the buildings of Tol Honeth circled the foot of the imperial palace like a ring of stone. Set like a jewel in the bezel of that ring was the walled and gated palace. Just beyond the palace was the district of the city where the residences of members of the Great Houses were built.

Geran found it a pure delight to walk the mile and a half from the imperial palace to the district of the Great Houses. The sun would have been hot, but the morning's high clouds had refused to burn off. The overcast thinned the summer sunlight and gave it a silvery cast. There was just a suggestion of potential bad weather to come in that slight overcast. With a persistent stiff breeze, the sky should have been utterly clear, yet the high cloud lingered. Geran savored the warmth of the sun on his back as he walked the cobbled streets. He savored the cool shade when the street he walked was overarched with trees.

The hill at the base of which the district was build loomed over the town, the long grass shimmering green and gold as the wind made waves through it. At first, Geran had wondered at the starkness of the hill. Why build all around the base and never upon the hill itself. His friend Alvor, a member of the Horbite family and, in Geran's opinion, the fount of all historical Tolnedra knowledge, had explained the phenomenon to him.

Long ago, the hill had been crowned with a prehistoric fort. Traces of the flat walkway that had circled to the top were still faintly visible, as if the hill had been terraced once. It was no longer possible to tell which had come first, the remains of ancient dwellings at the foot of the hill or the tradition that the hill itself was an important place and not to be built upon.

"There are legends that the hill is hollow," Alvor had said, when Geran asked him about it. "Only legends, unfortunately. About one hundred years ago, the emperor authorized an archaeological survey. He believed the ancient peoples once had an outpost here and that the local legends were folk memories of a gold mine somewhere in the hill."

"What did they find?" How many thousands of years had men walked here? How many stories had been told of hollow hills and places of importance? Geran's imagination was afire with the possibilities.

"Potsherds, mostly. Nothing lasts like a potsherd because nothing much can happen to it. Even if it breaks, from then on you have two potsherds," Alvor said. "There was some excitement about a find at the crest of the hill, right where the old fort once was. It turned out to be a woodware bottle, probably for ale, quite recent."

"No mine, then?"

"No, nor any gateway to the hollow hill. No champions asleep until the world's hour of need. Nothing but a few broken pots. Not exactly the stuff of legends."

"No, I suppose not."

"Tsk, Geran. You seem disappointed. It's only to be expected. Modern methods elicit modern answers. If you want a legend, that's easily arranged. Climb the hill by moonlight and weave your own. Profit by past example and take some ale with you."

Geran turned off the main road of the widely spaced houses and down a narrower side line, counting houses as he went. The residence in which he was staying was the fifth down on the left side of the lane. Once indoors, he climbed the stairs two at a time, eager to reach what he considered his rooms, the apartment that Alvor had invited him to share four months before.

Alvor, as a member of The Horbite Family and a student-lecturer at the Tolnedran Imperial War College, had his own lodging overlooking a garden. The bottom floor, spacious and comfortable, served for studies and sitting rooms. It boasted deep windows overlooking the garden, sound, well-designed fireplaces, and handsome tapestries hanging industriously on the wall. On the second floor were the bedrooms, Alvor's twice the size of the one he'd given Geran.

Even though Alvor had a study filled with books on the lower floor, his own rooms were still lined floor to ceiling with his books. The only other place Geran had ever seen so many books in once place was at his grandfather's tower back in The Vale. Later, when he saw the Tolnedran Archive, his ideas about what consisted a lot of books had been revised upward radically. Nevertheless, he still found Alvor's books a source of abiding wonder.

As Geran had brought few things of his own from Riva, his bedroom was ample in size. All he really needed, and wanted, was a bed, washstand, and wardrobe. The sitting rooms held everything else he considered vital to support life. Given free run of such things, the living arrangements at Alvor's residence suited him tolerably well. He liked Alvor and he was grateful to him for his generous hospitality.

At the moment however, Geran found the coziness of the house, usually so pleasant, stuffy and hot. He needed to be outdoors. He would change his clothes, get back out into that wind, and let good fresh air clear his head and calm him down.

As Geran had expected it would be, the sitting room was empty, as was Alvor's bedroom. The only sign of recent human habitation in the sitting room was one of Alvor's decanters, unstopped and half empty. That decanter had been open that way for two days now. Geran had last seen Alvor at breakfast the day before. Alvor had said nothing at the time about any deviation from his usual routine, nor had he left any message for Geran.

Geran didn't permit himself to waste any time speculating about Alvor's whereabouts. The man didn't need a nanny after all, nor did he owe Geran any explanation of his actions. Alvor scholarship—or to be exact, Alvor's idiosyncratic notion of scholarship—drove him. That was explanation enough.

As he opened the door to his own room, a huge furry head lifted from the cushions and a pair of luminescent eyes peered across the room at him in welcome.

"One is glad that you have returned." Wolf remarked to Geran as he entered, tail thumping against the bed. "One was getting tired of being inside. One wonders if we might leave the man dens for a time."

"One apologizes for the delay." Geran replied in the way of wolves as he discarded his formal clothing, exchanging it for cooler, more comfortable attire. "One was having just the same thought. One finds the man dens stuffy on such a day."

Wolf let his tongue loll out eagerly, jumping down from the bed. Geran felt guilty, leaving his friend cooped up inside the house all day while he was at the palace, but the last time Geran had brought Wolf with him here had been something of a panic among the staff and court. After that, Geran had decided it was best if he paid his calls on his family alone.

Geran changed from his velvets into a linen suit several degrees less impressive than the one he'd put one for tea with Eldanne. It was much more comfortable and Geran moved with ease as he and Wolf took a circuitous path away from Alvor's residence. His route led Geran through the walled garden and away from the Horbite sector of the district, to the far side of the area.

There, in the shadow of the central cloister garden walls, Geran sat on a stone bench and listened. The Military Academy of the Imperial War College was nearby and the sound of chanting voices, perfectly synched, was clear and pure. There were more voices during the regular term than there were now, so the volume was not as loud as it had been the first time Geran came there. But the power in those voices had nothing to do with the volume. Many of the voice rang out as one, intoning the rigid discipline that Tolnedran troops were known for; echoing perfectly behind their commander.

Geran yielded to impulse and stretched out full length on the stone bench, giving up into the shimmer of leaves overhead. Wolf dropped to his hunches in the grass below him. Beyond the leaves, the sky was raked with small scudding clouds. Yes, there was bad weather brewing out there somewhere, with more rain to come.

It had been raining when he first visited this spot. Geran had arrived in Tolnedra during winter. The grass had been green then, but the trees were bare and most of the flowers yellow. The damp cold had sliced through Geran's clothes courtesy of a wind that seemed never to ease or shift direction more than degree or two from true north. It had been chilblain weather.

This same bench had been the place where he'd first met Alvor. It had been a miserable day, not raining but just about to, and the wind unrelenting. After a disastrous day at the palace, Geran had worn his best, most unobtrusive clothes, and after half an hour of sitting still, even his heavy cloak did nothing to keep the chill away.

He'd been joined by a rumpled, wiry man with thick dark hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. His voice, when the man spoke, was low, almost diffident.

"Sorry to interrupt you," the newcomer said as he approached the bench, "but have you seen my cloak?"

Geran couldn't help taking a quick look around. There was the bench, the stone walls, the corner of the garden, plenty of trees, and some snowdrops blooming. No cloak. "Sorry, no."

The man sank down on the bench beside Geran with a weary sigh. "Damn them. Where do they get these notions?" In reply to Geran's look of inquiry he explained apologetically. "My schoolmates believe I pay them insufficient attention. In retaliation, they've taken my cloak. I thought I had interpreted the ransom note correctly. Apparently not." He thought it over. "It's a good cloak. Worth going to some inconvenience to recover. But it isn't a remarkable cloak. I may simply have to resign myself to its loss. My name is Alvor, by the way. You're the Rivan, are you not?"

Geran blanked. "I'm _a_ Rivan," he admitted cautiously.

"Around here, that means you're _the_ Rivan." Alvor tugged at the corner of his mustache. "Beastly boys. I don't know where they get the time, let alone the energy."

"I thought the students at the War College led a strict life." Geran nodded towards the sound of chanting. "Regime and all."

"Up at the crack of dawn to chant for hours, clean the barracks for a quick diversion, gruel and gossip for breakfast, and then off to attend lectures on history and strategy?" Alvor made a derisive sound. "That still leaves hours to spend getting into trouble. I liked that cloak, damn it."

"If I find it, I'll be sure to report it." Geran offered politely.

Alvor gave him a long look. "You're cold." He rose. "My town house is nearby. I'll give you a drink. Wine all right?"

Geran got to his feet. He was inches taller than Alvor, but he didn't feel it, for all he loomed over him. By the time they finished the wine, Geran considered Alvor a friend. Over the next few days Alvor made it clear that he returned the sentiment enough to solve the problem of housing by offering Geran lodgings in his own home.

Five months now, Geran had been in Tolnedra. Five months of politics and social niceties, martial art and lessons. Geran had initially been upset about being sent from Riva. The notion had come up as one of his mother's spontaneous ideas and nothing he said would dissuade her. Geran had had some hope that his father would put a stop to it, but once his Aunt Polgara also deemed it to be an idea with merit, it had been all over for the Rivan prince. Feeling just a bit betrayed by what he'd perceived as his family's attempts to get rid of him, Geran had been very peevish and ill-mannered during the weeks of preparation.

His bad humor had persisted until her accidentally made his youngest sister, Xerell, burst into tears. After a heavy scolding from his mother and a heavy bit of quilting from his other sisters, his attitude had quickly improved. That didn't mean his sullenness had evaporated entirely. Eldanne, determined to make his stay as enjoyable as possible, and her warm demeanor smoothed off the rough edges. And finally, his own acknowledgement that he was learning things he couldn't in Riva finally polished it. By the times mid-winter had come he'd finally acknowledged that the only thing making him miserable (aside from the unwanted visitations) was himself. After that, his uncle and cousins found him a much more amiable guest.

Even more so after he stopped staying in the palace. Not having to dodge courtiers improved his mood even further. Many of the more determined of the lot had attempt to call on him at Alvor's house, racking their brains and family history books to dredge up amiable ties to the Horbite family, particularly Alvor's branch. Alvor was, however, somewhat anti-social and had little to no interest in politics that were military or academic and the drop-ins soon discovered this. Eventually the courtiers resigned themselves to the fact that they'd get a stab as Geran only at formal dinners and at the occasional ball, such as the approaching one for the Vice Chancellor. Geran was not looking forward to it.

Geran let the sway of the treetops lull him into a half doze. Only Wolf's announcement that someone was approaching brought him back to full consciousness, just in time to hear a deep voice speaking.

"You. I might have known. You know you're not supposed to be wandering around here without an escort." The voice belonged to a man named Kalgan, like Alvor a Senior of the War College, although Kalgan's fixture was more military than scholarly, and a member of the guard. Kalgan was tall and strong enough to make his words sound like something of a threat, even to someone of Geran's size.

"I stay on the gravel path." Geran was in no hurry to sit up. If Kalgan ever felt inclined to exercise his authority, Geran had never detected a sign of it. "Were you looking for me?"

As soon as there was room on the bench, Kalgan sat down next to Geran. "Not you in particular, no. When I see someone sleeping on a garden bench between terms, I feel obliged to ask if he needs some sort of assistance. During the term, of course, I assume it's an exhausted student."

"What kind of help do they get?"

Kalgan looked surprised by the question. "None. Anyone too weak to sustain our academic and physical rigors is welcome to find more congenial surroundings."

"Right. I should have seen that one coming."

"Where is your Alvor friend?" Kalgan looked around as if he expected Alvor to spring up from the path before him. "I suppose Voysey and Malgon have wheeled him out to impress the visiting ministry. All ancient and esteemed geniuses of the college to report on the double."

Geran took his time about deciphering Kalgan's words. Alvor was older than Kalgan, but hardly qualified as ancient any more than Kalgan or Geran did. Kalgan might be using slang to mean just the opposite of what he actually said. He often did. "I don't think Alvor's off drinking fine old wine with Voysey and his fellows. I haven't seen him at all today. Or even yesterday. Doesn't seem likely that he'd impress any of the government bigwigs. Or vice versa. Voysey should probably keep Alvor at a safe distance from anyone he wants to butter up."

"I couldn't agree more. Alvor wouldn't impress my maiden aunt. That doesn't mean that the Horbites wouldn't like to show him off. Perhaps that's why Alvor's playing least in sight. To keep out of their way."

"Lying low, you mean? You're probably right. Well, if you see him before I do, tell him to write home, will you? I'll get worried about him."

Kalgan said, "There's no accounting for taste. If Alvor ever offered me some of that fine old wine, I'd be there early and often. It's a pity they make a point of keeping the likes of us ordinary soldiers away from the dignitaries."

"Next time, maybe."

"Cold comfort, your highness." Kalgan said, amused. "By next time, they'll have finished all the wine. Mind you, I've no doubt they need the wine to get through the whole agenda. The Vice Chancellor is the world's biggest bore and the ministers aren't much better. Voysey will be lucky if he doesn't doe off between speeches. We might be lucky at all for not having to attend."

"Not entirely. I'm still an expected guest at the ball."

"But that's a ball, Geran." Kalgan said patiently. "You listen to music, not stuffy old counselors droning on about budgets and relations."

"No. I get to listen to them drone on about the weather and trade. Or to their wives drone on about dresses and children. At least Voysey gets to sit. I'll have to do it all on my feet."

"At least women are nicer to look at. Who are you escorting?"

"The lady Melisende."

Kalgan frowned thoughtfully. "I don't believe I know the name."

"I didn't expect you to. She's a Mimbrate lady. She and Princess Eldanne were good friends back in Arendia. Her father is the baron of Vo Mimbre."

"An Arend!" Kalgan said, looking sympathetic. "Maybe you're not so lucky after all." Geran made a small sound of agreement. He didn't think he needed to share his suspicions about the Lady Melisende. Kalgan rose to his feet. "Now, do stop cluttering up the place. I can't just walk off and leave you here. Come along."

Geran rose slowly. "You're wasted as member of the guard, Kalgan. You'd make a wonderful mother hen."

Kalgan grinned at him. "Smile when you say that."


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Unsettling Occurances

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART TWO: TOLNEDRA_

**Chapter Thirteen: Unsettling Occurances**

Preparation for The Vice Chancellor's ball kept Eldanne, Varrob, and his uncle busy for the next several days, so Geran received no summons to call on the imperial family. He knew that if he visited one of them, they'd make time for him, but Geran was neither so rude nor so in need of company to make such an inconvenience of himself. Alvor's continued absence made Geran think that Kalgan's guess that Alvor was hiding himself away until after the ball was accurate.

Geran spent most of his time with Wolf and for that reason his sleeping patterns altered slightly. It was more convenient for Wolf to move around during the night so Geran often found himself attending classes as the War College during the early morning, dozing the afternoon away, and then exploring the districts and wilds of Tol Honeth with Wolf after sun down.

"One wonders about the humans need to remove all the trees." Wolf said conversationally to Geran one late evening, as they moved across the rooftops of the lower city district. Geran was quick and nimble, despite his size, and had cultivated a flawless balance after years of getting into trouble with Wolf---following, of course, many bad falls and tumbles that had left him bruised, broken, and nearly deaf from his mother's scolding.

"They remove them to make more dens." Geran explained to him.

Wolf sneezed. "There are many trees back at the place which our pack calls home." He said, refer to Riva. "There are also many dens there."

"That place has fewer packs than this one." Geran said, not sure how exactly to go about explaining population to his friend.

"Oh." Wolf's nails scraped against the stone and wood of a house roof as he clamored across. "When are we returning to our place? One does not like the many dens of the more packs."

"Once winter returns." Geran paused and then reluctantly asked. "One could arrange to have you return sooner, if you would prefer."

Wolf looked up, regarding him with luminous eyes through the blue light. "You would remain here while one returned?"

"Yes. One must do as one's parents have advised."

Wolf shook and then stretched lazily. "Then one will also remain here with you." He said simply, continuing his procession across the roof.

Geran felt a wave of relief and gratitude. Wolf had been with him since him since he was a small boy. They'd never been apart from each other for very long and Geran felt very much as if the creature were an important part of himself. The idea that Wolf might go and leave him behind had made him feel a rather poignant sense of loss and loneliness.

A quiet growl split the tranquil air of the night and Geran turned his attention to Wolf, who had halted mid step, one pause raised and his nose dipped low.

"What is it?" Geran asked.

"One smells something strange."

"Strange?" Geran asked. Something moved in the corner of his sight and he turned quickly to see a black cloaked shape emerge onto the roof of the building adjacent to them, moving silently through the cool night air.

"A man thing has died." Wolf observed.

"Died?" Geran's feet slipped along the roof in surprise, disturbing the roofing. Two clay tiled slipped noisily down the slope, shattering on the cobbled streets below. The cloaked figured turned sharply in his direction and then, seeing him, took off with quick steps.

"Wait!" Geran shouted, but the figure tossed itself over the side, vanishing into the labyrinth alleys between the buildings.

"One notices that command never works." Wolf observed dryly.

Geran gave Wolf a nasty look and beckoned him on. Between them, they combed the roads and lanes between the houses and shops, but they found nothing of the cloaked figure. As the sun began to crest the horizon and wakeful stirring started to move across the district, they retreated at last, back to Alvor's house.

* * *

Geran awoke late that afternoon to a heavy pounding on his bedroom door and Wolf's whimpering. Wolf had pressed his paws down onto his drooping ears in an attempt to lessen the noise of the loud knocking. Still tired and just a bit grumpy at being awakened, Geran rose from bed reluctantly, tucking on a pair of trousers before going to jerk the door open.

On the other side of the door was a short man with dark hair, large gray eyes, and a neatly trimmed mustache. The man was frowning slightly, but he looked incredibly patient for someone who'd been beating his fist against the door as if his life depended on it.

"There you are." Alvor said to him, taking in Geran's half dressed appearance with a critical glance. "You do know it's the middle of the day, don't you? Is this an Alorn affectation?"

"What is it, Alvor?" Geran asked, his grumpiness impairing his manners.

"My, aren't we grouchy this afternoon." Alvor observed, arching an eyebrow and glancing passed Geran towards the room. "You haven't got a girl in there, have you?"

"No."

"Excellent." He stepped aside, gesturing towards the sitting room that lay just beyond Geran's personal room. "These were sent down from the palace for you."

Geran stepped further out of the door way to peer out into the sitting room. Several maids, man servants, and footmen were assembled in the room. They were dressed in the imperial colors of the palace staff and had several wooden chests spread out across Alvor's carpets. Geran gapped in confused shock, glancing back at Alvor.

"What's all this?" Geran asked.

"I assume they're here to help you get ready for the Vice Chancellor's Ball." Alvor said casually, observing the assembly. "Mind numbing affair. I'm glad I managed to get out of going. I've better things to do than be a peacock."

"How could I possibly need this many people to help me get dressed?" Geran exclaimed.

Alvor shrugged. "Maybe someone thinks you've been doing a bad job all on your own. Or they might be here to make sure that you don't run away."

Geran scowled at his friend. "So that's why I didn't see you for days. You were hiding after all."

"Please Geran, don't call it hiding. Besides, I was doing it for the good of my House. They'll never get anywhere if they keep dragging me out to parties. I have the worst social skills. You think they would have learned after I told the wife of that Sendarian ambassador that she had fat arms."

"You didn't!"

"Of course I did." Alvor frowned to himself. "Backfired a bit on me though. Apparently the ambassador himself found it amusing. His wife didn't think it was half as funny though."

"You're awful." Geran observed.

"Yes. Please, tell that to my family. Now," he nudged Geran out of the room. "Hurry up and dress so you can get these people out of my house."

Several hours later Geran was escorted in full raiment to where the imperial family and the guests of honor had gathered to wait for their entrance. It didn't usually take Geran _hours_ to get dressed, but the staff that had been sent down from the palace where like all the rest; unable to take 'no' for an answer. Geran had been helpless while they bathed him in scented water, did painful things to his hair, and took centuries considering his wardrobe before settling on a blue velvet doublet with black lacings and gold thread. His attempts to seek aid from Alvor were futile, since the man had spent several minutes lounging in one of the chairs while a blonde maid poured him wine, before making a quick escape when a foot man inquired if he would also be attending the ball. Alvor was a nice fellow, but completely undependable in situations like these.

Prince Varrob and his delicate wife, Princess Eldanne, were already in the waiting room when Geran arrived. The Tolnedran crown prince wore a pearl gray doublet, encrusted with jewels and his dark hair was flattened by a gold crown. Beside him, Eldanne was radiant in a gown of ivory silk, belted at the waist with gold, and her hair curled into spry ringlets arranged around a small gold tiara.

Relief appeared on Eldanne's expression when he arrived and with a start Geran wondered if Alvor had been right and someone really had thought he might try to get out of coming. Well, it wasn't as if he was above it, but since he'd been declare the Lady Melisende's escort, he'd been well and truly trapped. It would have been rude bordering on cruel to abandon her. Geran glanced around in search of the blonde Mimbrate lady, but she was no where in sight.

"There you are Geran! You look absolutely regal." Eldanne praised cheerfully.

"Thank you, your highness." Geran said to her before turning to his cousin and bowing. "Your highness."

Varrob returned the bow. "Your highness." He grinned at Geran. "I see the company I sent got to you."

"So it was you!" Geran said in surprise.

His cousin's grin widened. "Sorry about that. I thought maybe if I sent half of them to you then it wouldn't be so bad for me."

"So glad I could be of assistance." Geran retorted dryly.

"Speaking of bothersome things." Varrob said, suddenly frowned a bit. "Eldanne told me she cornered you into escorting Lady Melisende this evening."

"I wouldn't exactly say cornered." Geran replied cautiously.

"Good luck. I'll have the physicians ready to make you something for the headache you'll have by the end of the night." Varrob said.

"I don't follow."

Eldanne had rolled her eyes. "Varrob and Melisende like to squabble with each other."

"I most certainly do not!" The Tolnedra prince protested.

"You're right. It's more like you squabble and Melisende provokes you." Eldanne amended with a smile. She turned her humor towards Geran. "They're actually very fond of each other."

"Don't lie to him Eldanne. The girl is a viper."

"Be nice, dear." Eldanne said and then she frowned. "Speaking of Melisende, where could she be? It's almost time to enter. Excuse me, I'd better go searching for her."

Geran and Varrob bowed politely as she excused herself to go looking for the Mimbrate girl and then Geran turned back to his cousin. "How did the meeting go?"

Varrob's expression sobered. "Fairly well. There won't be any awkward tension with the ministers, at least. And the Vice Chancellor didn't completely cancel the ball, so things aren't too horrendous." Her shrugged a bit. "As if he could when it's so late. The festivities weren't even postponed after what happened last night."

Geran looked at him curiously. "What happened last night?"

Varrob expression was surprised. "You don't know? We tried to keep it quiet until after the ball but it leaked out and I thought all of Tol Honeth was aware by now. I absolutely _have_ to find out who it is leaking things. Maybe the Drasnian intelligence would lend me a few spies to find out."

"Varrob." Geran said carefully. His cousin had a bad habit of going of on tangents sometimes. "What happened?"

"A member of the Ranite family was found dead in this morning. A man of about thirty or so." Varrob said grimly.

"Dead?" Geran said, shocked. "He was murdered?"

Varrob shook his head. "No. The physician said that it was heart burst that killed him. It's more frequent among older men, but it does occasionally happen to younger ones as well."

"Why bother keeping that hidden?" Geran wondered.

"Well, it looks rather bad having a celebration on the day of the death of a member of one of the great houses." Varrob sighed. "Additionally, the man was found under…unsavory circumstances. His body was found in the household of an extremely disreputable woman. It's a delicate issue."

"I see. What are they going to do?"

"What can be done? The issue will be tastefully ignored and the funeral carried out with a healthy amount of whispering being done by the guests in the back."

"That's disgusting." Geran objected.

"It's politics." Varrob said simply. "They're usually fairly disgusting."

"Doth this not suit the classification of a pot slandering a kettle as black?" The two men turned at the voice that slipped into their conversation. Princess Eldanne had rejoined them and behind her came the speaker, the Lady Melisende.

Lady Melisende had traded in her travel clothes and was stunning in a gown of very pale green, with a bodice laced with gold, the neckline of her gown baring her shoulders. Her blonde hair neatly arranged and held in place on one side of her head with an ornamental clip decorated with sapphire and peridot. She curtsied as she reached them and when she rose she had a smile on her face.

Geran and Varrob bowed in return, Varrob not half as cheerful as the blonde girl. "Lady Melisende." Varrob greeted her, stiffly polite. "I pleased you could join us this evening."

"Indeed. It seems to mine eye that thou art all but brimming with unbridled delight, dearest Robin, but I pray thee contain thyself lest thou make a scene." Melisende fluttered her eyelashes at him sweetly. Varrob gave her a nasty look, but she ignored it and turned to Geran. "I thank thee, milord, for escorting me this evening."

"It's my pleasure, Lady Melisende." She replied politely.

"My, so much pleasure going about this evening." She murmured her eyes impish. "I wonder how we shall get anything done at all."

Melisende gave them innocently naïve looks as Varrob choked, Geran warred between blushing and laughing, and Eldanne managed to look both reproving and amused at the same time. The imperial princess turned towards her husband.

"You were telling Geran about that dreadful incident with the Ranites?" The princess asked. She shook her head. "It's terrible. I wish everyone wouldn't whisper about it. Men visit…those types of women all the time."

"Discreet visitations are perfectly acceptable, gentle Eldanne." The Lady Melisende said. "Tis the dying there that's frowned upon. And just think, low whispers art far better than loud discussion. Is that not so, gentle Robin?"

"_Must_ you address me that way?" Varrob asked her, frowning unpleasantly.

The Mimbrate girl gave him a confused, wide eyed look. "Well thou art gentle, art thou not? Surely thou wouldst not claim to be a barbarian. All the world knows that the imperial family is among the most civilized people in all the nations. Why, to learn that the good and noble imperial crown prince were some rude and beastly brute would shake the realm of man to its very core. Surely thou wouldst not provide such a disillusion. I would be shocked without measure, dear Robin. Shocked!"

"Never mind." Varrob said dryly to her.

Eldanne was hiding a smile. Just then a footman stepped into the waiting room to announce that it was time for the imperials and guests of honor to make their entrance. Geran offered his arm and Lady Melisende rested her hand on it as they took their places. She leaned towards him as they fell into place behind Varrob and Eldanne.

"Art thou prepared, your highness?"

He looked down at her in surprise. "Prepared for what?"

She returned his surprised look with a mock one of her own. "Why, for the den of lions, of course."

The herald called out, "His highness, Crown Princess Geran of Riva, son of The Overlord of the West, King Belgarion of Riva, and Queen Ce'Nedra of Riva, Imperial Princess of Tolnedra and Jewel of the House of Borune, escorting The Lady Melisende of Arendia, daughter of Lord Mandorallan, baron of Vo Mandor and Royal Advisor to the King of Arendia."


	14. Chapter Fourteen: The Chancellor’s Ball

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART TWO: TOLNEDRA_

**Chapter Fourteen: The Vice Chancellor's Ball**

Geran understood what Lady Melisende meant as soon as they descended into the ballroom. Every person of prestige or position was in attendance, including those hungry for more prestige or position. As Geran was announced and he and the blonde Mimbrate lady descended the winding staircase into the grand chamber, he could feel the ambitious gazes as keenly as someone might feel the sun on their bare arms. It was like the time when he'd been living in the palace all over again. Power plays of this kind were infrequent in Riva, and so Geran was ill-equipped to handle them. As a result he often found himself being dragged along by one noble or official or another, often times not entirely sure just what he was being dragged along to.

Almost as soon as he and Lady Melisende reached the ballroom floor, Geran saw someone already edging his way across to obtain an introduction. Without thinking, he sighed in despair.

"Why so melancholy a sigh, your highness?" Lady Melisende asked, her voice a soft murmur.

"It's nothing, your ladyship." He said in resignation, glancing around the room. "Just steeling myself for a great deal of unwanted small talk."

"Doth thou hate social niceties so much?" She wondered.

"It's not the social nicites I have a problem with." He confessed. "It's the manipulative intentions beneath them. It's a bit troublesome being used as a stepping stone to power."

"I see." Her smile held a touch of mischief. "Then wouldst thou object to being a social leper for the evening?"

He looked askance at her. "What do you mean?"

Her smile became more impish. "Trust me."

To his astonishment, Geran soon found that having the Lady Melisende on his arm was almost as good for deflecting unwanted exchanges as living with Alvor. Her methods were the complete opposite of Alvor's however. Where the Horbite man was chilly and unreceptive towards visitors and attentions, Melisende was overly receptive and warm.

The first person to approach him had been a Honethite noble, who had greeted Melisende with the expected, polite praise, expecting to quickly move on to claiming Geran's attention. Melisende, however, had taken his compliment and claimed the conversation. The nobleman was treated to several minutes of the blonde girl waxing eloquent in praise of him. And then another several minutes of eloquence when he thanked her. By the time she had completed her third monologue, the Honeth gentlemen had had enough and beat a hasty retreat.

This rest of such encounters followed suit. Geran, and subsequently the individual who attempted to engage him in meaningless conversation, could scarcely get a word in edgewise between Melisende's flowery remarks. The Mimbrate lady seemed to have an astonishing talent for taking a single sentence and turning it into a novel. Geran watched, amazed, as she found new and more ostentatious ways to ramble at length about anything from flowers, to the table settings, to the city of Tol Honeth itself.

Realizing fairly quickly that every time they spoke, they'd be treated to an increasingly flowery and lengthy speech, the noblemen and officials in question threw up the white flag and, chewing their livers in frustration, begged off. One determined gentlemen managed to hold his place longer than the others. Until Melisende spent a full seven minutes waxing elegant about the new spring wind after he made some remark about the weather. After that display, he quickly forfeited the game.

Geran was staring at the blonde girl at his side in awe as they proceeded unmolested towards the refreshment table. "How do you do that?"

She looked up at him, amused. "Do what?"

"Say so much about nothing."

"Babble, you mean? It's actually quite easy once you get going. The hardest part is thinking how to end once you have an easy flow. I try not to talk for _to_ long, or else they might figure out what I'm doing. I don't mind being thought to be boring, but being perceived as rude is another matter entirely."

"Do you always do that?" Geran wondered, incredulously.

Melisende smiled at him. "It doesn't work as well in Arendia, since loquaciousness of this sort is the standard, but in foreign courts I find it to be a useful tool. When a gentleman wants to chat with you for hours, it's much easier to dissuade him this way than smile politely and feign interest." She slanted him a mischievous look. "You will be discreet it won't you?"

Geran grinned at her. "Your false babble? I suppose so. After all, if I told everyone it might not work if I called on you again for help."

The blonde girl heaved a long, theatrical sigh of woe. "Poor me. Used for my deceitful silver tongue."

"You said it, my lady, not me." Geran replied cheerfully. "I should also note that your colloquial accent has slipped."

She sighed yet again with dramatic woe. "We might as well drop the formality, since we are no co-conspirators." She proposed. "Please call me Melisende."

"As your ladyship wishes." He said with a courtly bow.

She laughed. "Shall we turn about the floor again for the sake appearance?"

"Certainly." He offered her his arm and then started around the edges of the ballroom again.

They were approached several more times by industrious courtiers and Melisende sent them running one by one. It became a game of sorts and Geran almost began looking forward to the ambitious introductions and the sly, devious glances Melisende secretly cast him when they saw someone bearing down upon them.

One portly man, a minor baron, must not have heard the warnings about the talkative young Mimbrate girl since he eagerly approached them as Geran and Melisende were taking a second turn around the room. He bowed to Geran and bent over Melisende's hand courteously, while mopping his sweating brow with a handkerchief. He was a tall man, but very rotund, and had a face too narrow for his build. He seemed perpetually nervous and flustered and tumbled over his words as if unsure of them.

"It is truly a great honor to be able to make your acquaintance." The baron said by way of introduction. "It is extremely fortuitous for me that they decided to go on with the ball, rather than cancelling it due to that nasty mess with the ah…" He cleared his throat, dropping his voice as his shifty eyes darted about, "with the Ranites. I was a friend of the young man, you know. A level fellow. I told him not to be so influenced by those…foreigners he was always hanging about with."

Geran was finding the large baron's critique to be vaguely contemptuous. The man also, it seemed, had forgotten that the pair he'd proclaimed himself so honored to meet were both foreigners as well. No unsurprisingly, Melisinde seemed to catch on the discrepancy, her golden head tilting a bit.

"Surely, thou wouldst not proclaim yourself an enemy of all foreigners, my lord baron?" The blonde girl said. "I would be most grievously injured to know I was somehow disfavored in your opinion."

He was surprised that her speech was so brief. By now he would have expected her to have run off the insulting nobleman and Geran wondered if she was, at last, running out of fuel to supply her loquacity.

The baron flushed at her remark and hastily assured her, "Not at all, your ladyship. Forgive me for being unclear. I meant, of course, those eastern foreigners. Naturally our good friends, the Arends, are above reproach. No, no." He shook his head.

Melisinde gave the man a pretty smile. "I am most reassured, my lord baron. Many Arends also still have a suspicious demeanor in relation to those eastern nations. Indeed, I'm sure many a valiant and noble Mimbrate knight would advise a good friend to have caution in relation to a Murgo visitor. Surely this must be such the same advice thou gave even unto thine unfortunate countryman."

"Indeed." The baron said, smiling in relief at her. "Although it wasn't a Murgo, although that sort aren't all that better. This one happened to be one of those Karandese sorts."

"A Karend?" The blonde girl exclaimed. "How shocking. I didst not know that the Karends were much related with Tolnedra."

"They aren't at all really." The baron went on. "There are minor trade agreements, but not much else. This one was a merchant of some sort. He and that young Rannite boy became much too chummy. I'm sure that's the reason he was always off and down in the lower district."

Something jarred Geran and he turned to look askance at the baron. "The lower district?"

The nobleman looked nervous suddenly. He'd been fine chatting with the giddy and harmless Mimbrate girl, but it was clear he found the Rivan crown prince just a bit intimidating. "That's correct, your highness. Of course you know, that's were his body was found. In a…" he coughed, glancing at Melisende and then away, "house of ill-repute. One right near a sailor's tavern and a gamblers hell, no less."

Geran felt a light chill. That had been right around where he'd been that night, when he'd seen the cloaked stranger on the roof tops. Was it just a coincidence?

"Ah, I believe I see my wife beckoning for me. If you will excuse me, your highness, your ladyship." The portly baron bowed to them and then excused himself to join a harried looking woman with dark brown hair and a very severe face.

"Goodness." Melisende murmured to him. "You would think that modernity would have gotten rid of _that_ kind of---Are you alright?"

Realizing that he'd been frowning intently at the baron's retreating back, Geran reset his expression and turned his head to look at his companion. The blonde girl was watching him with an expression of curious concern, the same question she'd just voiced asked again in the arch of one of her eyebrows and her creased brow.

"I'm fine." He assured. "I--" but broke off when he could think of no excuse to give for his momentary lapse of attention. He certainly couldn't tell her that he'd come across a cloaked figure on a rooftop in just the same area that the Ranite nobleman had been found dead. Finally, he settled for repeating. "I'm fine." And then as an addendum. "Just a bit tired maybe."

She smiled at him. "Be strong, your highness. They can't keep us here forever." She pursed her lips in an expression of mock consideration. "At least, I don't _think_ so."

"Thanks." He replied dryly, far from comforted by her assurance.

She laughed and took hold of his arm again. "A bit of fresh air will make you feel better." She proposed comfortingly, leading him towards the huge glass doors that opened into the imperial gardens.

The night was overcast, and the slivers of moonlight that peeked through the clouds tinted the tight clumped bushes in silvery light, while the glow spilling from the well lit ballroom illuminated the garden's edges in ruddy yellow-gold glow. There was an early spring breeze sweeping through the fragrant grounds, bringing the last bite of the winter chill from months passed. A cherry blossom tree dripped branches covered in sweet pink blossoms and the baroness plucked one of the blooms as they drifted by the tree.

"I thought it was strange," the blonde girl began as they strolled, "that you were so eager to avoid interaction this evening. Eldanne told me that you came to Tolnedra with the intent of being acquainted with local politics."

"Politics." Geran emphasized, grimly. "Not society."

"But, they go hand in hand. Particularly in Tolnedra. You couldn't possibly have one without the other."

Geran sighed deeply. "That's what I've gathered. It's not the same in Riva."

"Riva is the exception to all the world." Melisinde smiled at him, mischievously. "Everyone knows Rivans are a backwards people. It can't be helped." She laughed in the face of the dirty look that he gave her. "I'm only teasing. In part, anyway. It's only natural that Riva would be conducted differently than most other nations. For one thing, it's far more isolated than almost anywhere else. For another thing, your people worship the royal house."

"They do not." Geran object.

"No?" Melisinde said patiently. "Then you haven't been paying attention. Or you've become so use to it that you don't notice. The Rivan King is not just the Rivan King. He's The Overlord of the West. He's the Keeper of the Orb. He's the Godslayer. You can't hold titles such as those and not be worshiped. Besides, what courtier would dare play at intrigue with someone who was known as a godslayer?"

Geran was forced to admit that the blonde girl had a point. He had never really thought about the nature of his government, or his father's court, from that perspective. Probably, he decided; even if he had, Geran couldn't imagine he would have arrived at as clear an assessment as Melisinde had. He wondered if it was because he was Rivan himself or if it was because Melisinde simply had powers of insight he lacked. Curiosity nagged at him.

"That afternoon you arrived, when I asked you about your education you said…"

"The dowager's arithmetic." She finished with a smile. "It was a small joke."

"And yet you seem very well educated."

"Ah, more of my secrets are out." Melisinde sighed dramatically. "A single evening and I've lost all of my female mystery. I pray thee, think not less of me for so shamelessly disclosing myself in a fashion unseemly."

"You won't get away with that." Geran said patiently. "I've already caught on."

She pouted at him. "Poor sport." She twirled the cherry blossom between two of her fingers. "I'm merely a curious individual, talented at satisfying my curiosity. Thus, all my intellect is the effect of a nosiness of character."

"Then you're not really interested in academics."

"No." She replied simply and then smiled at him. "I like answering my questions, but studying rigorously isn't for me." She paused briefly and then adding. "The exception, I think, would be zoology."

"Zoology?" He asked curious.

"The study of animals. I'm not particularly good at it, but I it's an interest of mine."

Far from being satisfied, Geran found his curiosity only more intense. He raked a hand through his hair without thinking, ruining the painful and grueling work that the company his cousin had sent him had done on it. Unruly to a fault, the tawny blonde locks slumped down over his forehead. The baroness laughed at him, reached out, and pushed the tuft of hair back into some semblance of neatness.

"Have a care, your highness. If you go back all rumpled people will be suspicious." She said deviously.

"Geran." He corrected, quite certain that formality between them was quite useless. He couldn't say why he wanted to dismiss it so easily, but he did. "Did you really come to Tolnedra simply to see Eldanne?"

The look she gave him was amused. "My actions are ever suspect. I don't know why people must always look sideways at whatever I do."

"Probably because you talk sideways." He rejoined, equally amused.

"Point." She conceded, putting a delicate hand to her head as if wounded. "Indeed, I might have had a double motive. I'd been doing a bit of research in Arendia and run out of resources. And everyone knows Tolnedra has the largest supply of knowledge in the west. Of course I would have come sooner or later to visit Eldanne, so it's not as if her company were just a mere side note. I _do_ love her a great deal, after all."

"What were you researching?"

"Eastern zoology." She replied. "I did mention my interest. Arendia tends to be a bit prejudiced about certain eastern regions still. Tolnedra is far more unbiased in the matter." Melisende sighed a bit. "I thought I'd found what I was looking for already, but I'll have to do a bit more researching. I suppose it doesn't matter since Eldanne's been much to busy for long visitations anyway. I spend entire days sighing of boredom in my room."

"I hardly believe that."

She grinned at him impishly. "Well, perhaps not the _entire _day. And you, I noticed that you don't keep residence in the palace."

"Ah, no. I found unwanted visitations to be somewhat of a problem when I stayed in the imperial apartments. I have a friend in town and he allows me to stay with him at his residence."

"You are mastering the art of a hermit." She teased him.

"I figure there are worse things. If I _really_ want to talk with someone, then they know how to reach me and I them. I don't see the need to bother with anything else."

"How elitist."

"I didn't mean it that way."

"I know. But that's the way it came out all the same." She flashed that playful smile of hers and tucked the cherry blossom she'd been twirling into her hair. "Shall we go back to the ballroom, your highness. I think once more around the room and then we can make an escape."

"Geran." He corrected again, allowing her to steer him back towards the glass doors.

She smiled again. "Geran."


	15. Chapter Fifteen: The Overturned Study

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART TWO: TOLNEDRA_

**Chapter Fifteen: The Overturned Study**

In the days that followed The Vice Chancellor's Ball, Geran found himself spending a great deal of time in Melisinde's company. More to the point, he found himself greatly enjoying said company. Geran was no stranger to socializing with women. He was, after all, the only boy among a small army of sisters, not to mention the fact that he'd spent a fair amount of his time since coming to Tolnedra with Eldanne. Melisinde, however, was quite different from his younger sisters or his gentle hearted little cousin-in-law to be. The blonde girl was clever, witty, entertaining, and had a way of talking, which made her a constant puzzle. The more time he spent with her, the more Geran realized the surprising intellect that lay beneath her teasing smiles and ornate turn of phrase. On numerous occasions he was witness to her beguiling or distracting an official or guard or minister with that impossible manner of hers.

What he probably appreciated the most about her, however, was that her inclination for going places she really should not matched, if not rivaled, his own. Geran did not like to consider himself to be a corrupting influence; however he couldn't deny that, more often than not, he found himself conspirators in flouting mandates with the Mimbrate lady. On one occasion, he managed to let her talk him into accompanying her while she disguised herself as an imperial legionnaire in order to take a tour of the War College. By Tolnedran Law, women were not permitted beyond the gates of the college. Melisinde's argument, however, that masquerading as a man would effectively negate the rational behind that particular law had an undeniable logic to it. And Geran had spent enough time with his grandfather and his Uncle Durnik that he was easily swayed by logic.

So, together with Melisinde in her legionnaire uniform, Geran walked through the outer quadrangles of the Tolnedran Imperial War College. It was a glorious morning. Ivy covered the stone walls, green against gray freshened by last night's rain, and deep within the foliage, leaded glass windows gleamed as diamond panes of glass caught the brilliant morning light. The place smelled sweet, a combination of the morning's baking, the rosemary in the perennial border and the sun warmed roses.

"This is where most visitors begin." Geran told her at the threshold of the college. "It looks like the morning service is over. We ought to be able to look around for quite a while without bothering anybody. Would you like to?"

Melisinde agreed enthusiastically and they headed across the grounds of the college into the central building. The marble corridors were sparsely populated and the doors the huge lecture rooms were open, revealing empty seats sweeping out before polished mahogany podiums. The carefully constructed rooms and halls of the college were all geometrically precise, the walls accented by arrow straight, ornamental borders. The corridor was lined with marble statues of armed warriors and massive lions in alternating poses; one crouched as if poised to spring, another with his fanged maw open in soundless roar, another raised on his hind legs, claws raking at the empty air, and yet another featuring two lions locked in battle."

"How interesting." Melisinde mused, touching a finger to the last statue. "This lion is Tolnedra and the other is a Malloreon lion." She kept her voice down, but the interest in her voice carried her words to Geran no matter which way she turned.

"How do you know that?" Geran asked.

"See the difference in the ratios between the length of the pelvic bones and the hind to front legs? It's one of the indicators of the two different species." She smiled at him, the expression looking strange when done from beneath the fake mustache she was wearing. "I did mention my interest in zoology to you, didn't I?"

"Indeed, you did. But, and I don't mean to be offensive, what good is it really? I mean, why bother learning something like that? I can't imagine why it would be useful to you."

"Simple curiosity doesn't suffice."

"No one becomes so proficient in something that requires that much effort out of mere curiosity." Geran countered.

"True." She stroked the stone mane of the lion. "Maybe not just out of curiosity, but the other reason is nearly as fickle." Melisinde dropped her hand away. "So, what is next on the grand tour, your highness?"

Geran eyed the blonde girl for a moment, but he decided to let the matter drop. If she did not want to confide her motivation to him, then he would not force her. "That's up to you. You'll want to see the Archives I imagine. After that, would you rather look at the stained glass in the temple or take a look at some of the buildings on the way?"

"Oh by all means, we must stop along the way. Any chance of having a snoop behind the scenes? I'd be most interested to see a lecture in progress."

Geran considered showing Melisinde Alvor's study. If Alvor were there he'd hate to have his studies interrupted by sociability. Being polite to Melisinde would be a fitting punishment for making Geran worry. Savoring the mental image of Alvor's reaction to Melisinde's demeanor, let alone her masculine disguise, Geran steered the Mimbrate lady out of the central building and across the lawns towards the Archives.

"It's a lovely morning." Melisinde said conversationally. "Eldanne tells me this has been the rainiest spring she can remember. She said the college boat race had to be canceled and rowed over. I can't imagine it."

Geran stopped in his tracks, and said, "That's odd."

There was a main door to the archive building but the side door, facing out on Midsummer Green, was visible from their vantage point on the neatly swept path. To his surprise, the man leaving the archive building by cutting across the green to the quadrangle path was wrapped up in a brown cloak, hood pulled down, despite the warm morning.

"That's very odd. That man must be a priest. No one else is qualified to walk on the grass all by himself."

"He _does_ seem in a bit of a hurry, doesn't he?" Melisinde watched the man's rapid departure with interest. "Then again, one does often see men swathed in robes bustling."

"Excuse me." Geran approached the corner where the man's route would intersect their graveled path. "May I help you? Sir? _Hey!_"

Without a second glance at the, the brown cloaked man broke into a run. In moments he was through the stone arch of the great gates, lost from sight.

"How extraordinary!" Melisinde started back towards the gate, then hesitated when she noticed that Geran wasn't following her. "Who was that? Do you know him?"

Geran stood staring after the man. That had been downright peculiar.

"I wonder what he was doing in there," said Melisinde. "Shall we follow him or shall we go investigate?"

The rate the man had been running, Geran calculated he'd be long gone by the time they cleared the gate. "It's probably nothing. But I think we should at least take a quick look in the Archive, just to make sure every thing is in order. Whoever he was, I don't think he belongs here."

Geran and Melisinde entered the Archives by the side door, since the man in the cloak had left that way. They paused in the doorway to listen. The customary silence of the archive held sway. There was a distinctive quality to the quiet there. Geran had noticed it on previous visits. It was a very busy silence, a silence composed of human concentration, not only of the activity of the moment but somehow of the long years of concentration that had gone on there since the construction of the building. The place smelled of books and book bindings, wood and wax.

Geran led the way through side passages to the foot of the main staircase and started to climb. The stairs rose from the ground level to the first-floor reading room. From floor to ceiling the room was lined with shelves, each rank served by a spiral staircase of intricate ironwork. More shelves were arranged throughout the room, yielding at intervals to great long tables of polished wood, each like a clearing in a forest. There were brass study lamps in plenty, each with its green glass shade, but they were unlit for the room was flooded with light from the skylights overhead.

There were only two men at work in the place, one in the robes of an archivist and the other in the short poplin gown of an undergraduate. Neither looked up as Geran and Melisinde hesitated on the threshold. The fellow and the undergraduate were engaged in a hot debate about politics and Geran had to take Melisinde's elbow in order to guide here away from ear range of the argument that Geran had discovered was quite comment in the setting of the Imperial War College. They passed through the room and up into the next floor, where a corridor ran in a rectangle around the perimeter of the structure, with small rooms opening off either side. Each Fellow of the college had a right to a room devoted to his own research somewhere on the premises. Alvor's study was just one of the many in the orderly warren of the place. Even here, the energy and hush of the place was undisturbed.

Geran did not dare open any of the doors that were closed, for fear of annoying possible scholars within, but he led Jane through a quick survey of those rooms with doors ajar. None seemed a bit out of the ordinary and nothing appeared to have been disturbed. Nothing, that is, until they reached Alvor's study, where the door had been left open a few inches.

Geran rapped on the door as he opened it farther and peered inside. "Uh-oh. Alvor is not going to think much of this."

The room was deserted and Geran sidled in and took a good look around. From one side of the room to the other, papers littered the confined space. A study lamp had been knocked to the floor, its green glass shade broken, though no oil remained in it to cause a fire hazard. If there had been a robbery, nothing seemed to have been taken and many objects of considerable value remained. There were gleaming brass astronomical models in each corner of the room, three armillary spheres and an orrery. An astrolabe lay half buried in paper on the desk. The glass fronted bookshelves seemed undisturbed but every other surface was in complete disarray.

"Judging from the marks here, the door seems to have been forced open." Melisinde said, tracing the gouged word and scratched metal of the door. "It wasn't locked. Someone didn't even bother to try the knob first, just slid a knife blade in and pushed."

"How do you know that?" Geran asked, for the second time that day.

The blonde girl shrugged a bit. "You can tell easily by the marks on the frame. And the lock is still intact. If it had been in place it would have been broken by the intrusion."

"He must have been in a hurry." Geran started picking up papers and stacking them in no particular order. It would be easier to clean the place up once the floor was clear.

Melisinde studied the room with sharp-eyed interest. "Whoever works here is a devil for armillary spheres." She flicked a speck of dust from one of the nested rings of the largest armillary sphere and set the gleaming metal into silent motion. "Is this an orrery?" She moved along to the mechanical model of the solar system. She touched the crank and glanced up at Lambert.

"It's an inaccurate model." Geran told her. "The earth isn't really in the center. The sun is. Earth and the other planets spin around it."

Melisinde straightened. "You said, your friend uses this room?"

"Alvor, yes. He's going to be extremely cross when he finds out about this. He doesn't like anyone disturbing his work."

"What is he working on? Do you know? Our friend in the cloak didn't visit his study for nothing." Melisinde learned over to make cursory examination of the papers on Alvor's desk. "Is there anything that should be here, but isn't?"

"I don't know." Geran frowned at her. "Can we be sure that's what really happened? The man comes in here, throws things on the floor, and leaves in a big hurry? Even if that's what he really did, _why_? What was he doing here?"

"Is there anything here that shouldn't be?" Melisinde seated herself behind the desk and began working through the papers in earnest. "What _is_ your friend's field of study? To judge from this, it looks like he makes maps."

"History of military stratagem." Geran answered. "But for the past few months he's abandoned his thesis completely to study foreign military."

"What kind of work is he doing?" Melisinde looked puzzled.

Geran shrugged. "Just—various military structures. He's interested it."

"That man in the cloak was looking for something—or he found it."

Geran looked again at the surrounding mess and winced at the thought of what Alvor would have to say "We'd better report this."

"You're right. I shouldn't have delayed you. I'll wait here until you find the proper authority." Melisinde went back to her careful examination of the papers.

Geran hesitated for a moment, then gave up on any attempt at tact. "Please come with me. I don't think Alvor would approve if I left you alone with his papers."

Melisinde looked surprised. "Why? What harm could I do?"

"No harm. Not that." Geran settled for complete honesty. "If I leave you here, I'm worried you might snoop."

Melisinde lifted a dangerous eyebrow. "Oh do you?"

"I'm sorry for my bluntness, but I try to not underestimate women."

Geran was perplexed by Melisinde's sweet smile in response. "In that case, your highness, I'll admit that I'm quite capable of snooping. Let us go and find the proper authorities together."

It took Geran some time to track down the right person to inform of the disturbance in Alvor's study. The young man responsible for the reading room sent to someone with more authority, who send for someone else. Finally one of the senior Fellows arrived and took a look at the place.

"To be honest, it doesn't look much worse than usual." He poked around a stack of papers. "Lord Alvor can make formal complaint if he notices anything missing. Leave it alone until then."

"Shouldn't he be notified, then?" Geran asked.

"A runner was already sent." The man replied. "But he returned to inform us that Lord Alvor was not currently in residence.

"What about the man in the cloak?" Geran pressed.

"If you see him again, ask him to come in and answer a few questions. Not much we can do unless he returns." The Fellow ushered them back out to the corridor. "It was very conscientious of you to report this."

To Geran, his tone made it plain he thought Geran and Melisinde were a pair of officious fussbudgets intent on making a mountain out of a molehill. Geran noted with interest that Melisinde seemed to interpret the man's tone just the way he had, for she looked peeved as they were escorted out of the archive and left on the front steps.

* * *

Geran excused hired a coach to take Melisinde back to the imperial palaces, before heading towards Alvor's house. Despite the dismissal of the college's authorities, he couldn't shake the feeling of importance about the incident. In his opinion, it was best that his friend be notified as soon as possible.

Like the runner had said, however, Alvor was not in residence when Geran returned, nor was there any note left for Geran. Alvor rarely felt the need to justify his outings. Wolf was in the square yard behind the house, napping beneath the new blooming branches of an apple tree. Geran spent several hours dozing along with him. And another several responding to the backed up letters from family and friends.

As the sun started to sink beneath the horizon, however, Alvor still failed to make an appearance and an abnormal impatience and concern began to wash over Geran. Where _was_ Alvor? True, he had a tendency to vanish for periods of time. But that was usually to his study and, considering the reason why Geran was so anxious to speak to Alvor, he didn't imagine that that was where his friend was. And if not there, where?

As the evening hours lengthened, Geran became restless, pacing through the apartments idly.

"One notices you are acting like a wild animal in a cage." Wolf observed, as Geran took a sixth turn through the corridors from the backrooms to the sitting area.

"One is concerned about the absence of he who owns this den." Geran replied, swiping his fingers through his hair in agitation. "One needs to tell him of the incident which occurred today."

"About the trespasser in the territory of he owns this den?" Wolf questioned.

Geran nodded. "One thinks it is of significance."

"Of course. Trespassing is of most significance." Wolf agreed, stretching his long forelegs out across the carpet. "One wonders why, if he will not come here, you do not go to where he is."

Geran paused suddenly. The idea of going out to find Alvor instead of waiting for his return had not occurred to him. He stared in Wolf. "Could you find him?"

Wolf lifted his head proudly. "Of course."

"I think we had better then. I have a bed feeling."

In only a few minutes, Geran was dressed in clothes more suitable for night skulking and he and Wolf were making their usual trek across the rooftops of the imperial city. Wolf was familiar with Alvor's scent after the months of living in the Horbite man's residence. Alvor had departed earlier that morning, not long after Geran had left to meet Melisinde. Wolf traced his scent to a pub a few streets away and then on to the residence of one of collegiate friends Voysey, then back to his residence again. Finally a straight trail led away from the noble quarter of the city and down into the lower district.

The night was cool and a circular moon hung in the ink blue sky overhead, peeking from behind clumps of slate gray cloud. It was past the midnight hour and the only citizens still out and around at that hour were not the type who often bothered to look up.

In the moonlit shadows, Geran began to recognize the area. It was the same one they'd been in that night several weeks prior. The night that Wolf had smelled blood and that Honeth had died.

Suddenly, Wolf stopped, and crouched down low, his teeth appearing in a growl. "Someone is ahead."

"What?" Geran responded in the same way. A sense of déjà vu washed over him as she stared across the rooftops and saw a black cloaked figure detach itself from the shade of chimney and move across the shingled roof parallel to him. "That…it can't be, the same person from last time?"

"They have the same scent." Wolf confirmed.

Again? It couldn't be mere coincidence. To be led to the same place by Alvor's scent only to encounter the same figure. A thought occurred to Geran. In the darkness it was easy for a brown cloak to appear black. Was it possible that this figure was also the one whom he'd seen leaving the Archive? The one who'd gone searching through Alvor's study. If so, it would make sense that Alvor's scent would lead them to him. Whatever else, the cloaked man seemed to have an interest in his Horbite friend.

"Don't let him get away!" Geran urged, hurrying across the roofed tiles.

Obediently, Wolf took off as well, moving with far more speed and agility than Geran. The clatter of the wolf's nails across the shingles made noise and the cloaked figure twitched upright and spun. At the sight of his pursuers he broke into a brisk sprint. But he was no match for Wolf's agility. Within mere moments, Wolf had caught up, cutting across to block the cloaked figures path, bearing his teeth in a dangerous snarl of threat.

The figure spun, attempting to flee in the opposite direction, but by then Geran was there, baring escape.

"Who are you?" Geran demanded hotly and Wolf snarled again. "It was you at the Archives this morning, wasn't it?"

He didn't answer. Instead, with unexpected nimbleness, the figure rushed at Geran, sidestepping around him and attempted to flee over the side of the building. Wolf lunged, colliding with the figure's legs. The tiles beneath him broke and he slipped, sliding towards the ledge. Geran caught him by the arm, bracing himself against the weight to avoid behind pulled down as well. The fabric of the cloak shifted beneath his fingers, bunching, and the hood slipped down off the figure's head.

And Geran found himself staring down into a cherubic face and a pair of familiar, intelligent gray eyes. His mouth fell open in shock.

"Melisinde!?"


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Several Interrogations

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART TWO: TOLNEDRA_

**Chapter Sixteen: Several Interrogations**

Her blonde hair had been plaited into a thick golden braid that slipped free of the cloak's hood and hung over her left shoulder. Her face was white, her pink lips set together, and an expression of resignation in eyes. She had braced her hand on the tiles, supporting herself with it, while her other limb was caught still in Geran's gasp. For a brief instant she locked eyes with him and then her gaze strayed in the direction of the fatal tumble she'd almost made.

"If you would be so kind as to help me up, Geran," The Mimbrate lady murmured. "I suppose we will have to have a talk."

The initial shock had worn off, but still Geran felt a sense of perplexed confusion. Melisinde was the cloaked figure he'd seen that night? But there was no way she was the brown cloaked stranger that had destroyed Alvor's study. Not unless she could be in two places at once. Then what was going on?

"Geran?" The blonde girl prompted, with simple directness as if they were on one of their customary outings.

The Rivan prince's face hardened, but he helped her up into a more steady position. He did not, however, release his hold on her arm. Melisinde glanced pointedly at the grasp and then sighed.

"What's going on?" Geran demanded. "What are you _doing_?"

"It wouldst surely take a great length to tell thee of it, for it is a tale of great complexity."

"Stop that!" He snapped.

She smiled at him soothingly. "Calm down, Geran. I did not mean that I would keep you in the dark. I am caught, but it would be easier if I were to show you, rather than tell you. Will you follow me?"

Geran hesitated. His sensibility told him it would be best to demand the truth from her no matter how long it would take. But his curiosity was nagging him to follow her. Besides, he still had to find Alvor and the more time wasted---well, who knew what could be happening to his friend. He no longer felt sure of anything.

Melisinde saw his indecision and added, "I will not try to escape you. What would be the point? It would be all too easy for you to catch me if I tried to flee and easier still for you to pursue me after."

"Follow you where?" Geran asked at last.

Melisinde turned, pointing a slim figure towards a building approximately four roves over. "In there."

"Is that where Alvor is?" Geran gambled.

The blonde girl turned to look him in the face, her expression grim. "I believe so, but I am not certain. Your friend has gotten entangled in something quite serious, I believe, though by little fault of his own."

"How do you know that?"

"Please, Geran. We are wasting precious time."

Gritting his teeth the Rivan prince turned towards Wolf. "What do you think?"

Wolf had seated himself on his haunches listening to the exchange between Geran and Melisinde. At Geran's question he raised his nose into the wind.

"The scent of he who owns the den at which we are dens lead into the building which this one proposes we enter." Wolf informed him. "Since that was our purpose, one thinks it is a reasonable idea. One can always catch the she again if necessary." And Wolf bared his teeth in a feral smile.

"Alright." Geran agreed, turning back to Melisinde. "We'll go along. But Wolf will go after you if you flee."

Melisinde looked down at the huge wolf, her expression blank. "Of course."

As they made their way across the buildings, Geran wrestled with his feelings about the situation he'd abruptly found himself in. The idea that Melisinde might have betrayed him, might have had a hand in the harming of his friend, filled him with a sick feeling. He did not want her as his enemy. More to the point, the thought that their friendship had all been a lie filled him with sadness.

She had pulled the hood of her cloak up again and now she no longer looked like the bright, mischievous girl that he'd spent time with. She looked like a thief or an assassin. Nimbly she picked her way over the tiles, leaving over the narrow gasp between some of the buildings. Geran and Wolf followed close behind on her heels. When they reached the roof of the house she'd indicate, Melisinde, leaned over the edge, pressing at the shutter covering one window. Geran's hand strayed towards his own weapon when she extracted a thin blade from beneath her cloak, but the blonde girl merely slipped it between the slats and used it to flip open the latch that bound the shutters closed. Another push and they swung open.

Melisinde gestured for them to follow and then she swung down over the edge of the roof and in through the open window. It required a bit of effort to get Wolf in by the same means, but after some struggling Geran managed. The room into which they'd entered was a corridor, sheathed in darkness and silence. Only the moonlight from the opened window illuminated the mosaic carpeting and the tapestries hung across the walls. With only the slightest pause, Melisinde motioned them to silence and slipped down along the moonlight corridor. For several feet and then they turned a corner and then the grim shadows were dispersed by golden light that leaked out from a crack in a half opened door several feet away.

The Mimbrate girl paused, looking back at him. "When we enter, you must not say anything Geran." She cautioned in a whisper.

Giving him no time for reply, Melisinde turned away again. Her back straightened and the air about her seemed almost to change. Imperiously, she crossed the last distance between themselves and the door and haughtily, swept inside. Geran followed after her, cursing noiselessly to himself in confusion. He didn't understand at all what she was up to. He reached the door in time to see her pushing her hood back, her gold braid swinging free, her chin lifting, lips curling with a sanguine smile.

The room in which she stood was a study, richly furnished with dark maroon upholstered furniture and cherry wood shelves tightly packed with leather bound volumes and bits of parchment held together with twine. Several of such bits were spread out on a high table in the middle of the wine red carpets. The man inside the sitting room was of average height, perhaps a few inches shorter than Geran. His skin was very dark, marking him as a Karand, and his head was shaved bald. He had a narrow, even gaunt looking face that was drawn together in an expression of irate anxiety and he'd been pacing back and forth across the imported carpets, twirling a glass of wine in one hand. His motions had come to an abrupt halt when Melisinde and Geran had entered, his dark eyes going very wide.

"Who are you?" He demanded. His voice was deep and harsh.

Melisinde remained non-pulsed, closing the study door with one delicate hand. "Good evening, ambassador. I apologize for disturbing you so late in the evening. I trust you'll forgive me, however. You're quite the busy man during the daylight hours, getting hold of you then is simply impossible."

The man drew up straighter. "If you would like an appointment with me, I suggest you come during reasonable hours. Now leave, before I summon the watch."

"I doubt you'll be doing a thing like that." Melisinde drifted leisurely away from the door, strolling delicately across the rug. "Imagine what the watch would say if they were to find a member of the Horbite family bound and held in your…" she tapped a thoughtful finger against her lip "oh, I suppose the wine cellar is where you are keeping him? Somewhere nice and sound proof and without windows and I don't suppose this lovely residence has a dungeon."

Geran saw the Karand ambassador moving even as Melisinde spoke. Wolf snarled at his side and Geran called out a warning a fraction of a second before the man pulled a dagger from beneath his doublet and dove at the blonde girl. Geran moved to assist, but it turned out Melisinde was far from in need of his help. Smoothly she stepped out of the way of the descending knife stroke and caught the ambassador's wrist in the circle of her fingers. And then she twisted her hand, wrenching his wrist painfully so he groaned and dropped the blade. The knife made a muffled thump as it hit the carpet.

"That was quite undiplomatic of you, your Excellency." The Mimbrate girl rebuked. She sighed deeply. "I had hoped to keep things civil, but we women are weak willed creatures and you've brought out my vindictive side."

She twisted her hand again and the Karand ambassador growled in pain, sinking down weakly to his knees. Geran stared in mute shock as Melisinde hitched the leg of a chair with her foot and pulled it closer so that she could gracefully sink down into its deep cushions. Her back remained straight, her chin lifted, and she looked for all the world like a queen on her throne. Abruptly she released his wrist and her fingers moved to his neck. She made some motion, to quick for Geran's eye to pin point, but suddenly the ambassador began to choke, turning pale beneath his dark skin. Casually, Melisinde dipped a hand beneath her cloak and removed a small sandglass.

"You may feel yourself getting a bit light headed; you shouldn't try to fight it." With a heartless calm she set the sandglass on the table and turned it, so the tiny white grains began to siphon through into the lower compartment. "In five minutes, you will be dead, unless you answer each all of my questions. And do be truthful. I will be all too aware if you lie." She put her fingers on either side of his head. The ambassador flinched beneath her touch but could not pull away. "Where are you from?"

The ambassador's eyes flickered from the sandglass and back to Melisinde. "Katakor."

"Lie." Melisinde spoke the word as if from a dream. Geran and the ambassador both looked at her in shock. She smiled. "Come now, your Excellency. You are wasting precious time."

"Zamad! I'm from Zamad!"

"Truth. Who sent you to Tolnedra?"

"No one. I came of my own ambitions."

"Lie." Melisinde said in that same, drowsy tone. It was in her normal voice that she added. "Very well, you Excellency. If you wish to waste your final moments on games…" She left that remark hanging as she began to stand, as if intending to depart.

"It was his Majesty, King Anwar of Zamad, First Son of the Jaguar Tower." The ambassador confessed in a strangled tone.

Melisinde sat again, placing her hands on his temples again. "For what purpose?"

"I was to create turmoil in Tolnedra. His Majesty is aware of the constant feuds among the Great Houses of the Tolnedran Empire. I was to ally myself with one of the Great House and encourage them to plot against the imperial family. I would promise the assistant of the Kingdom of Zamad and urge the plotters to assassinate the emperor and crown prince. In exchange, once a new emperor sat on the Tolnedran throne, the empire would be allied with Zamad."

"The Ranites?" Melisinde prompted. Her expression became contemplative when the ambassador nodded. "Clever. The Ranites have been underdogs in the succession for years. It's no wonder they'd be willing to ally with a Karandese kingdom in exchange for finally getting a chance at the throne. But then when the head of the plot turned up dead, with a warning painted on his walls, the Ranites backed out, didn't they?"

Geran was startled. He'd heard about the Ranite nobleman who'd turned up dead, so he was sure Melisinde had to. But there hadn't been a hint of a whisper about something like a warning. The ambassador was nodding again. His eyes now made panicked and constant trips between the blonde Mimbrate girl and the sandglass.

"What happened after that?" Melisinde was asking.

"The Ranites were no longer an option and so we had to turn to another House. I chose the Horbites, however they refused to participate and threaten to reveal everything to Emperor Ran Borune."

"So you kidnapped Lord Alvor?" Melisinde said, her tone confused. "For what reason. The Horbites would not take the risk upon their entire House merely to save a single one of their own."

"No. However, they would do so to save themselves. I discovered that Lord Alvor was conducted research and experiments pertaining to sorcery and magic. Tolnedra society is strict in their feelings of such things. If it were known that the Horbite family was dabbling in sorcery there would be severe repercussions."

"You were the one who destroyed Alvor's study." Geran said, without thinking. Both Melisinde and the ambassador turned to glance at him as if they'd forgotten he was there. That made Geran just a bit testy.

"Why does a Karandese king want an alliance with Tolnedra so badly?"

The ambassador shook his head helplessly. "I do not know! I was merely following the orders given to me. Once it was completed and a new emperor sat on the throne, I was to have him sign the treaty."

"Where is this treaty?"

The ambassador pointed towards the bookcase. "In that pewter case on the third shelf."

Melisinde glanced at Geran. He nodded and walked to the bookcase the Zamad ambassador had indicated. Inside the case several sheets of parchment were rolled up together, imprinted with a black wax seal that had a signet like a paw print. Melisinde watched him remove the roll of parchment and then she turned back to the ambassador.

"Have your men bring the Horbite lord here, immediately. And do remember, your Excellency, that your life span is currently on a few minutes long. I would not waste time playing, again."

The ambassador made some weak gesture towards a thick chord near Geran's left. He pulled it and the sound of a bell made noise along the corridors. In only a few moments a pair of armed guards entered the study. Their expressions at the scene in side where quizzical, but they obeyed when the ambassador ordered them to have Alvor brought to them. The silence that spanned after the guards left the room was filled with the sound of the Karand ambassador's labored breathing. After a few moments the door to the study opened the guards ushered in a battered looking Alvor.

His friend was sporting a nasty looking black eye, a gnash on one cheek, and was cradling his hand in a way that suggested it might be broken. Despite his injuries, however, Alvor's pride still remained undaunted and he wore the expression of one who has been offended beyond measure. Geran simultaneously felt a prick of pride at his friend's fearlessness and a towering rage that he'd been treated in such a fashion.

Alvor's eyes were hard, his expression battle ready as he entered the room. But then the scene before him sank in and his look changed to one of bewilderment.

"What is--"

"This is a rescue." Geran said, stepping forward. Alvor spun to look at him, his face become more startled.

"Geran?"

"I got a bit worried when you didn't turn up for dinner, so I decided to come looking for you." Geran said casually, shrugging one shoulder. "It looks like you've had a bad time of it."

"You have no idea." Alvor replied stiffly. He glanced across the carpet towards Melisinde. "Who is your lady friend?"

"Oh, no one important, your lordship." Melisinde said modestly, touching a hand to her chest.

Alvor lifted an eyebrow, a rather dashing move considering the dimpled knife scar that now ornamented it. "I can hardly believe that."

"Well…perhaps not _completely _unimportant." She amended all impish smile and fluttering lashes. She snapped her fingers then. "Ah, I almost forgot." She turned back to the ambassador, whose eyes had begun to roll up into his head and was drooping like an under watered flower. "Your cooperation has been most helpful, your Excellency. Thank you."

She put her hands to his neck again and at once the man sucked in a huge breath of air. He collapsed forward on the carpet, wheezing and choking violently. Melisinde stood gracefully, picking up the sandglass just as the last few grains made their way through the narrowed center passage between the two larger chambers, and tucked it away again.

"Who are you?" The ambassador wheezed out weakly.

"I am an inquisitioner." Melisinde replied simply, but the Karand ambassador had already lost consciousness. She stepped over him and approached Geran and Alvor. "You got yourself into quite a bit of trouble, your lordship."

"I thought you were suppose to be studying foreign military." Geran accused his friend. "Not sorcery."

"I was studying foreign military." Alvor replied. "Sorcery was an accidental segway when I started focusing on past exploits of major Alorn military campaigns. This gentleman." Alvor indicated the Karand ambassador's collapsed form, "managed to manipulate my research so it seemed that I was _only_ studying sorcery. How did you find me?"

"Not me." Geran admitted, lifting both hands. "You'd be better addressing that question to her. I'd like to know the same." Both men turned to look at the blonde girl, who some how managed to blush as if in maidenly embarrassment.

"How uncomfortable." She sighed. "I suppose I am not under eye. Rescuing Lord Alvor was merely a side product of me ultimate goal. I have been pursuing the person behind the imperial assassination plot for some time now. It's only natural that my investigations brought me to knowledge of Lord Alvor's whereabouts, particularly after you and I, Geran, discovered his study ransacked in that fashion."

"My study?" Alvor said, his voice strangled. "What's this about my study?"

"Pursuing the person behind the assassination plot?" Geran asked, ignoring his friend.

Melisinde nodded. "I was sent with specific orders to prevent it. Originally I, and my superiors, believed it was entirely devised by the Ranites. I thought it would be done with once I got rid of the head of the entire plot and left a little….message for the rest of the House. Until that baron at the Chancellor's ball made the remark about the Ranites consorting with a Karand, I never thought the plot might be more complex."

"What's this about ransacking my study!?" Alvor was still demanding.

"The ambassador found out about your research by breaking into your study, your lordship." Melisinde explained. "Geran and I happened to notice the break in while he was giving me a tour of the college. We later saw him, or one of his hirelings, fleeing the premises."

"I thought it was the same cloaked figure I'd seen the night that Ranite nobleman died." Geran said. "But that was you, that night. You're the one who assassinated him?"

Melisinde nodded. "It was part of my orders. I was foolish. I should have questioned him first. I would have saved so much time and trouble if I had found out about King Anwar's involvement earlier. This is troubling news. It seems things go much deeper than we thought."

"Who, exactly," Alvor asked now, his shock and horror over the news about his study's desecration having passed---or at least been set aside. "is _we_?"

"Oh my," Melisinde said, covering a smile. "No one suspicious I assure you. I work for the Drasnian Intelligence service."

Geran shared in shock. "But…you're a…"

"An Arend? Yes, I know. But that's why no one suspects me, you see. Among, other things." She smiled demurely, lowering her lashes. "Obviously it's in the west's best interest that there be no alteration of the current imperial family, so when the intelligence service found out about a plot to assassinate Emperor Ran Borune, they sent me to put a stop to it. It helped that I was a close personal friend of the Crown Princess. It gave my visit legitimacy." Her expression changed a bit. "Of course I was delighted at the opportunity to see Eldanne. I do adore her and I would have visited her sooner or later. This was just extra convenience."

"In the interest of not letting the Drasnian Intelligence service's enormous efforts go to waste." Alvor said, "I would suggest making haste in warning the imperial family about this. His Excellency there made it clear that he wanted to job done before noon tomorrow. My House may have taken immediate steps."

A cold fear ran through Geran. Melisinde caught his eye as the rush of instantaneous worry dissipated. "You go." She said. "You will have the easy time getting access. Make sure you inform his imperial majesty alone. If word about this gets out, there could be serious political turmoil and if the Kingdoms of Karanda are up to something, turmoil in Tolnedra is not what we need."

"What about him?" Geran asked, glancing at the ambassador.

"I'll deal with him."

"Are you going to kill him?" Alvor asked, his face stony. "Can I watch?"

Melisinde gave the Horbite man a long, amused look. "You've been spending too much time with Geran, your lordship. That shockingly Alorn of you."

"_Are_ you going to kill him?" Geran asked, with an offended frown.

"No. He's still useful. I'll have to write to my superiors about what should be done with him. Until then I'll keep him locked up somewhere. I _don't_ think I want him in the Tolnedran dungeons. It would be best if you simply say that he escaped."

"I will go with you." Alvor said. "I bear a heavy amount of responsibility and someone must be there to account for my House's actions. We should hurry, though." He frowned deeply. "And along the way, you can tell me exactly what happened to my study."


	17. Chapter Seventeen: All Things Revealed

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART TWO: TOLNEDRA_

**Chapter Seventeen: All Things Revealed**

Geran made quickly for the Karand ambassador's stables, hastily saddling mounts for himself and Alvor. They made quick time to the imperial palace, Wolf racing along beside him as Geran rode his mount hard through the organize grid of the capital city. The guards at the palace gates recognized him and only narrowly managed to clear the way for him to barrel into the courtyard.

"I need to see his imperial majesty. Immediately." Geran commanded as a stable hand came to take his reins.

His tone invited no argument and in only a few minutes he and Alvor were shown into Emperor Varana's private quarters. The Tolnedran monarch looked harried and just a bit moody. His hair was disheveled, his clothing hastily assembled, all indicative of the fact that Varana had been soundly dozing when he'd been disturbed with the information that his nephew was demanding to see him. Nonetheless, his tone was characteristically mellow when Geran entered the room, Alvor close on his heels.

"What's this all about Geran?" Varana asked, dismissing formalities in favor of getting straight to the point. He was an older man, his hair salt and peppered by years. His eyes, however, were still sharp and shrewd as a young man's and his many years as a military man had preserved a lean and solid frame despite his lengthening years.

"There's a serious problem. Someone is plotting to assassinate you, Varrob, and Eldanne. I'll explain everything in detail, but you should probably send a unit to check on them. And to sweep the palace."

Varana was frowning deeply, but he rose quickly and gave a bull on the bell pole. In only a few moments and armed guard stepped into the room. Varana gave several sharp orders and the man saluted and exited the room again. The sound of his voice summoning his comrades echoed back down the corridors.

"Now," Varana said, once they were alone again. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

Geran had already prepared what he was going to say to Varana on the ride to the palace and so he took a breath and launched into a recount of the events that had transpired over the last few days, starting with his first glimpse of the cloaked figure on the roof. He went on to recount what the baron at the Chancellor's ball had chanced to mention before moving in the explanation of what had occurred during his tour of the War College with Melisinde. At that point, the emperor's gaze swung to Alvor for the first time.

"Your study?" Varana inquired.

"If I may, your majesty." Alvor replied, stepping forward. "As you know, in order to graduate from the War College with honors one must submit a longer work for publications. My research for the current semester involved historic foreign military stratagem. During late spring, I began preparations for the chapter on Alorn tacticians. During my readings of several historical battles, The Battle of Vo Mimbre for example, I came across numerous instances of divine intervention or sorcery. For that reason I was forced to redirect my research into the areas of Alorn shamanism and magic in order to present a proper analysis. It seems this intruder broke into my study and discovered my notes and manipulated them in such a way that it appeared I was studying purely magic."

Varana's eyebrows arched upwards. "Why would he want to do that?"

"In order to blackmail the Horbite family." Geran supplied. He laid out the Karand ambassador's plot—his sabotaged attempt to manipulate the Ranites and his subsequent plan to replace them by using the Horbites. "Once a Horbite was on the throne, they planned to have Tolnedra ally itself the kingdom of Zamad."

"This is all very complicated Geran." The emperor sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his forehead as Geran finished speaking. "How did you find all this out?"

Here was where Geran would have to be careful. Although he hated lying to his uncle, he'd decided that, at least for now, he would keep Melisinde's involvement a secret. "I was a little worried when Alvor went missing so suddenly after his study being destroyed so I went looking for him. Wolf managed to pick up his scent and led me to the ambassador's residence in the city. I overheard him explaining the plot to Alvor." Geran tried to telepathically will his friend not to do anything to reveal the deception. As if he'd heard Geran's silent plea, Alvor barely blinked at the revised version of events. "I broke into the room. There was a bit of a tussle with his guards. Wolf and I were able to deal with them, but in the mean time the ambassador managed to escape. I decided that getting here as quickly as possible to warn you would have to trump pursuing him."

"Indeed." If Varana doubted Geran's words he gave no indication of it. But then, it was never easy to tell with a man like Varana. "And the cloaked figure you saw during your…exploration of the city rooves?"

The Rivan prince lifted his hands helplessly and shrugged. "I don't know. It's possible someone else found out about the Ranite's plan and chose to take steps themselves, without realizing there was someone else behind it. Or it might not have been related to the plot at all. There are enough feuds and bad blood between the Great Houses that a few knives in someone or another's back isn't all Ithat/I unusual."

At that point there was a knock on the door and the armed soldier from earlier entered the room. He bowed low as Varana's gaze swung towards him, knocking an arm against his chest.

"Your imperial majesty," the man began, "the palace has been combed from top to bottom at you ordered, including the imperial crown prince and princess' chambers. Aside from a few harmless spies, we found nothing out of the ordinary."

"Thank you captain. Get out word that the Karandese ambassador is wanted for plot against the crown and abduction of a member of the Great Houses. And send a special message stating such to the Horbite family."

"Yes, your majesty." The soldier bowed again and left the room.

Varana turned back to face Geran and Alvor. "It seems the Horbites were not as hasty in executing the ambassador's plan as you feared."

Alvor, who'd been quite silent since explaining his place in the Karandese plot, sank down to one knee, bowing his head. "Your majesty, I hope you'll forgive my family's purposed involvement in this."

The emperor's attentions narrowed on Geran's friend. "Lord Alvor, wasn't it? From what it is you and Geran have told me, neither you nor your family had any willing part in this. And as far as that report just revealed, no action had been taken as of yet. I believe it's best if this can all be settled as quickly and quietly as possible. I'd much prefer to let the public believe this was hatched entirely by the ambassador and that the Great Houses had no involvement."

Geran felt a rush of relief. He'd been prepared to defend his friend's innocence if necessary, but he was glad that it looked as if things wouldn't come to that.

"What's to be done now?" Geran asked his uncle as Alvor rose to his feet again.

Varana sighed. "Paperwork Geran. Lots and lots of paperwork."

The morning dawned gray and overcast, with thick clouds threatening rain. Geran and Alvor had both spent the night in the imperial palace. They'd stayed up with Varana for several hours, to the point where Geran had become so drowsy that he didn't even remember stumbling into the bed prepared for him. Around noon Alvor left to attend the lectures at the War College and to, Geran was sure, survey the damage done to his study. The thread made by the leaden sky became a reality and a heavy rain had begun to fall on the city of Tol Honeth when a servant knocked to inform him that the Crown Princess Eldanne had invited him to evening tea.

From Eldanne's appearance, it was clear that she hadn't gotten much sleep the past evening either. She was impeccably made up as always; hair neatly coiled into an elegant knot and lovely in a dress of pale yellow silk. But her eyes were just a bit heavy and once or twice he'd caught her yawning into her teacup.

"It's dreadful, Geran." She confessed finally. "After the guards woke us up, I couldn't sleep a wink afterwards. All this came much to close to succeeding."

"There's no guarantee that the Horbites would have gone through with it." He offered in an attempt to comfort her.

The sound Eldanne made held a work of skepticism in it. "If you don't, you haven't been in Tolnedra nearly long enough." She glanced out the window at the sheet of rain that rolled over the glass and the sky like a boulder. "This weather is a very bad omen."

Geran had to resist the urge to groan a little. The last thing he needed was for her to delve into any of her mysticism or fortune telling on this subject. To distract her he asked, "Where's Varrob this afternoon?"

"He's with Emperor Varana. He's been there all day. Some of the heads of the Horbite family came up to speak with them and they've sequestered themselves in council hall for several hours." She sighed heavily. "I just wish I knew what they were talking about."

"I'm sure Varrob would tell you if you asked."

"No, he doesn't want to worry me. I love Varrob dearly, but he's terribly tight lipped and imperious sometimes." She complained with a sulky tone. A sudden light jumped into her eyes and she swung her gaze to Geran. He didn't think he liked the triumphantly devious glint in that look. "I'm sure they'll be inviting you to their talks before it's over. _You'll_ tell me, won't you Geran."

"Um…"

He was saved from replying by a knock on the parlor door. At Eldanne's call the door swung open and one of the maidservants bowed, before informing them that Lady Melisinde was requesting an audience. Geran suddenly sat up very straight in his chair. He hadn't heard a thing from Melisinde since the previous evening.

"Of course!" Eldanne said immediately. "Please send her in."

A few moments later the blonde Mimbrate girl came sweeping into the room. She wore and outfit not unlike the one he'd first seen her in, though this was considerably less road worn than that one had been. Without hesitation she went quickly to the crown princess.

"Goodness, Eldanne! I heard what happened. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine Melisinde." Eldanne said, managing a smile as she received her friend. "I'm sorry. I should have sent a letter to you."

"Nevermind." Melisinde said, waving away the apology with a flick of her hand. "I might have barely had time to read it. I've been making preparations."

Eldanne gave her a quizzical look. "Preparations?"

The blonde girl's expression went very apologetic. "My timing is ghastly as usual, but I'm leaving to return to Arendia this evening."

"Already?" The crown princess' expression filled with surprise and dismay.

"I'm sorry, Eldanne. I truly am. But my sister-in-law is due for labor within the month and I promised I'd be there. You know how Alianara gets if she's not the absolute center of attention. You will forgive me, won't you?"

"I suppose I must." Eldanne conceded with a heavy sigh. She took the other woman's hands in her own. "You _will_ visit again won't you?"

"Of course."

"Soon." She emphasized, fixing her friend with a stern look.

Melisinde laughed a bright little laugh and embraced the royal. "Upon my honor, you have my word. I shall return to you anon as readily as doth a bird fly home for spring. For indeed, thou art even as newly blooming flowers—nay the return of the warm sun, to the winter of my heart dearest Eldanne."

"You!" Eldanne said in exasperation, but she was laughing. There was another knock on the door at that point. "Goodness, what could it be this time? Come in."

"Your imperial highness," the servant who entered said respectfully to Eldanne. "His Imperial Majesty and His Imperial Highness request Crown Prince Geran of Riva's presence in the council hall."

Eldanne shot Geran an _'I told you so'_ look. "You better go quickly, Geran."

"Of course," he agreed, already rising from his chair.

"Will you escort me out, your highness?" Melisinde asked him, her smile perfectly innocent.

"Certainly, your ladyship."

"Goodbye Eldanne." Melisinde said to the Tolnedran princess, kissing her on either cheek. "I promise to come for a much longer visit at a more convenient time." Then she took the arm Geran offered her and they exited the parlor together.

Geran waited until they had gone some distance from the sitting rooms, moving down an empty corridor at a slow, lazy pace. When he was sure there was no one around to overhear them, he turned and looked down at the Mimbrate girl on his arm.

"Your sister-in-law isn't really expecting," he ventured.

"Oh, but she is." Melisinde protested, giving him one of her mysterious little smiles. "But I doubt little Alianara cares a whit if I'm there or not."

"And so?"

She tapped a hand against her cheek, going quiet as a maidservant came quickly around a corner and rushed past them, dipping her head in respectful acknowledgement as she passed. Melisinde waited until he girl's footsteps had faded back down the hallway before she spoke again.

"I'm to transport our dear ambassador western wards. The head of the Drasnian Intelligence Service will no doubt have a few questions to ask him first hand, before we can dump his body in a river."

"Where is he?" Geran asked her.

"Oh, he's trundled up in one of my clothes chests. The chest isn't very big, but after some fancy maneuvering of his limbs we managed to get him in there safe and snug." Melisinde's lips curved into a wicked smile. "I'm certain he's quite comfortable."

"That's horrible."

"Not nearly as horrible as what he was planning to do to Eldanne and Varrob." The Mimbrate girl replied with steely resolution.

Geran looked across at her in surprise. "You love them a great deal, don't you?"

"Of course I do. Eldanne is my dearest friend in the whole world."

"And Varrob? I thought you constantly bicker with him."

"I do." Melisinde laughed. "That doesn't mean I don't love him. He's an excellent man and he makes Eldanne very happy." She lifted one hand in a helpless gesture, her expression absolutely angelic. "I really can't help it if he's absolutely hysterical when he's riled up. I hear you are the big imperial hero now."

"Hardly." Geran scoffed. "All I did was ride a horse to the ground for no real reason."

"Never say for no reason, Geran!" Melisinde gasped with exaggerated shock, pressing a hand against her bodice. "For justice! For valor! For love!"

"Makes a very nice poem."

"There's the spirit!" She approved, giving him a winsome smile.

"I had a question." He said then.

"Oh?"

"When you were questioning the ambassador, there was something strange going on. Somehow you seemed to be able to tell when he was lying."

"Oh, that." She fluttered a hand at him. "It's just a little talent I have."

"Talent? You mean like sorcery?"

"Heavens no! It's just a small…skill." She shrugged a bit. "I've always been able to do it. As long as I'm touching someone, I can tell if what they're saying is the truth or a lie. It's a small talent, but it comes in quite handy."

"How long have you been working for the Drasnian Intelligence Service?"

"Not very long actually. Three years or so."

"Do your parents know?"

Melisinde's eyes went very wide. "I hope that was a joke Geran. My father has a great deal to worry about and my mother is quite fragile. I wouldn't want to distract either of them with trivialities like locking me away forever to keep me out of trouble—what with Mimbrate society being so _protective_ of its women."

"Point taken." he conceded.

Geran realized, with a little pang, that he was going to miss her a great deal. She'd been a wonderful companion, and despite the fact that he should have been the one entertaining her, he'd more often than not found himself on the receiving end of such. Her company had been more fun than a lot of the things that had occupied his time during his stay in Tol Honeth. He was sad to see her go.

"You'll let me know what happens, won't you?" He said, giving her a level stare that in no way lost out to Eldanne's. "I mean it Melisinde."

"Well, if you're going to insist." She agreed with exaggerated resignation, only slightly spoiled by her soft smile. "How can I refuse?"


	18. Chapter Eighteen: The Great Hunt

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART TWO: TOLNEDRA_

**Chapter Eighteen: The Great Hunt**

Geran saw Lady Melisinde and her company off that evening. Their goodbye was short and she winked at him mischievously when he noticed her servants loading a filigreed clothes chest into her wagon. At his uncle's request Geran stayed in the imperial palace, where he could be immediately on hand to assist why his uncle dealt with strings of the ambassador's plot. With the Karandese ambassador out of the picture, it seemed the Horbites were more than happy than to give up their imperial ambitions. The city was searched heavily, but they failed to find the wanted ambassador. In the end Varana set guards to watch his house and put a price on his apprehension. Only Geran, and to some extent Alvor, knew that he was already apprehended and long gone.

It was several days before Geran was allowed to return to Alvor's house down in the city sector. His friend had initially been much more commonplace than usual, but as the week drew on Alvor's behavior began to revert back to its normal patterns. Strangely, Geran took comfort in his friend's inalterability.

Things seemed to be slowly returning to normal and so Geran was in high spirits as he and Wolf made their way back down into the city. It was mid afternoon when he entered arrived, admitted into the house by one of Alvor's servants, who informed him that the Horbite nobleman was in the parlor. Surprised that Alvor was in residence and not at his study, Geran headed down the corridor towards the sitting room.

"Alvor?" Geran called as he got closer.

"In here." He heard his friend's voice coming from the room at the end of the hall. Geran followed it, stepping through the threshold into the sitting room. He was brought up short by the state of the room. It was cluttered with chests and ornamented boxes. Several garments in the form of jewel encrusted doublets, silken robes, and furs were draped across the furniture. A practical mountain of freshly leather bound books was piled in one corner of the room, distinctly different from Alvor's old volumes. Amidst all this mess, Alvor sat in one of the room's deep chairs, sorting through a stack of letters.

"What's all this?" Geran asked in confusions.

"Gifts." Alvor replied as he tore open an envelope with a silver letter opener.

"For who?"

"For you." His friend replied, still not looking up. He let out a sound of disgust, tossing the letter he held down onto the table in frustration. "For the love of Nedra, these imbeciles!" he cursed suddenly, clearly driven to irritation by whatever the contents of the letter was.

Geran was too stunned to be curious about what had suddenly annoyed the other man. "For me? Alvor, you do realize that it won't be my birthday for ages yet."

"Oh they're not from me." Alvor said, finally turning his attention to Geran. There was a slight touch of amusement around his impassive face. "They're from my family."

"Why is your family sending me gifts?"

"They're all beside themselves with gratitude. After all, you saved their good name, prevented them from having to participate in an assassination plot, and spoke up for them to the emperor in the council hall. You are, quite simply, the Horbite family's hero. In fact, it's only my friendship with you that prevented me from being completely disowned."

"You're welcome?"

"Ha! Do you know how much easier things would have been for me if I'd been disowned. This is a disaster." He picked up another one of the letters, now frowning sourly. "Look at these! Invitations from relatives I've never even spoken to. I'm more popular than ever thanks to you."

"Are all those invitations?" Geran stared at the dozens of letters spread out in front of the nobleman.

"Don't look so horrified." Alvor said and then pointed towards a side table with the silver letter opener. "Yours are over there."

The Rivan prince swung his gaze in the direction Alvor had indicated. Atop the table there was a neat stack of letters easily twice the quantity of the ones which the Tolnedran man was sorting through. Geran suddenly felt a bit light headed.

"I don't want to be the Horbite hero." He complained in a tone not unlike that one he'd used as a child when his mother made him clean his own room.

"It's much too late for all that." Alvor tossed another letter onto the table sullenly. "Ugh, Aunt Baldima wants to have lunch. That woman's a dragon. I hope you're happy."

Geran groaned, sinking down into the chair opposite Alvor and put his head in his hands. "I can't believe this." He sat for a few moments, the sound of Alvor tearing open and reading letters the only noise in the sitting room. Finally he looked up again. "Have you managed to put your study back together again?"

"Yes. You and the Lady Melisinde were certainly not exaggerating when you said _destroyed_." Geran could almost see the tick in his friend's eye. "I only wish I could get my notes back, but they're being held for evidence. All that research will have to be redone."

"Don't tell me you're actually _still_ studying this" Geran exclaimed. "How _can_ you?"

"Honors, Geran. I have to finish a work to be published or I don't receive them."

"I think you should just skip that particular chapter Alvor." The Rivan Prince remarked dryly.

"Oh look." Alvor remarked as if he hadn't heard, fanning one of his letters in the air. "My Uncle Arton is holding a hunt in your honor."

"I don't suppose this is something I could get out of," Geran ventured hopefully.

"This is one of the largest developed cities in the world, Geran. Do you know how difficult it is to organize a full scale hunt?"

"I was afraid you'd say something like that." The crown prince replied glumly.

The day of the hunt came, warm and clear. The clouds and heavy rain that had dominated the past week had broken for a brief respite. The Horbite sector of the city stirred well before sunrise, as the festivities were scheduled to begin before the day became too hot. A stiff breeze blew up from the east, chilling the assembled noblemen in their light attire.

Alvor had been kind enough to provide Geran with suitable Tolnedran hunting apparel, which included a black cap, black riding coat, a canary yellow vest, pale gray breeches, and black boots. Only later would he realize that what Alvor had given him was his only hunting uniform, when his friend came down the steps that morning dressed in doublet and hose. Geran had risen early, before first light, and had a small breakfast that consisted of eggs and toasted bread smothered in honey. He was finishing his second slice when Alvor made his appearance. As usual Alvor looked as if he had slept in his clothes. There was nothing wrong with the cut of his hose, but something about Alvor's posture made it impossible for him to stay tidy looking for long. More to the point his heavy velvet doublet and the long sleeves of his shirt beneath were far from appropriate for the day's festivities. Geran swept a frowning gaze over his friend as the Horbite dropped into a seat at the breakfast table lazily.

"You're not going to the hunt?" Geran asked. "Traitor."

"No such thing, Geran. Aside from being much too far in moral debt to abandon you, there's no possible way I could worm out of this. No no. I'll be shipping out with you." Alvor surveyed Geran back from head to foot. "I see it fit well."

"Why'd you give me this outfit if you didn't have another for yourself? Your uncle might object."

"Let him object," said Alvor. "It was his idea to invite me to this silly hunt against my will. Just because he has time and patience for such frivolity doesn't mean everyone else does."

"You're going to pass out from the head in that get up," Geran cautioned him.

"That's exactly my plan. I would have suggested you do the same, but you're not nearly as delicate as I am." Alvor said without a wit of shame or embarrassment, buttering a piece of toast.

"Thanks a ton."

Once they'd finished their early breakfast, he and Alvor mounted and headed down to the meeting point. The sun rose in the eastern sky as the party assembled in the main courtyard. As Geran came into the courtyard, he saw Voysey and Malgon-two of his and Alvor's classmates from the War College-standing close to each other, conversing in low voices. The men greeted Geran and Alvor as they joined them.

"Inspired outfit." Voysey remarked to Alvor, taking in his apparel. His toothy smile was knowing. "You always did know how to do things in style."

"Oh hush, Voysey." Alvor retorted, no doubt remembering the long ago incident involving his cloak.

"What are you two discussing?" Geran asked, in an attempt to derail the argument before it began.

"Oh, the usual." Malgon answered. He and Voysey had been Fellows of the War College for only a year, but pompous enough to have been there all their lives. About three times a week they argued religion. On the days they didn't, they argued about the weather, foreign politics, and horses. Geran only knew so much about foreign politics, but judging from their opinions about religion, weather, and horses, he didn't set much store by anything either of them said. It turned out to be religion that morning.

"You can't argue that scriptures shouldn't be subject to scholarship." Voysey was saying. "Why should prophecy, annals, or religions texts be different to any other book?"

"I never said they should," Malgon said. "I never said it shouldn't be subject to whatever analytical method you choose. I said scholarship alone proves nothing. You may rank your hypotheses from least unlikely to most unlikely. That is the use of scholarship. You cannot understand scriptures in hypothetical terms."

"I disagree. No rational man understands it in any other way," said Voysey. "Even if your approach made sense, which it doe snot, what is it good for? Where does it take us?"

"You're missing the point." Malgon said calmly.

"The point is, you prefer to believe the fairy tales." Voysey laughed to himself. "You'd rather believe folktales than admit that man has evolved like every other creature on this earth."

"Who wouldn't?" Malgon countered. "As for utility, you must admit we learn more about people not like us from scriptures than from anything in the pages of _On the Origin of Species_."

The argument last precisely as long as it took to for the dawning sky to go from soft pink to robin's egg blue. When the trumpet call came to announce the company was moving out, they concluded their debate with the verbal equivalent of fencing partners shaking hands at the end of a sparring match and went their separate ways. As he nudged his horse out of the courtyard with Alvor at his side, Geran tried to picture anyone from Riva taking part in such a polite disagreement. The weather, maybe. But if the subject were something they cares about, say, the rival merits of a ham sandwich over roast beef, it would have been profanity for sure and fisticuffs quite likely.

That was one of the true ancient and legendary glories of the War College, Geran decided, and atmosphere were men could differ strenuously over matters both vital and trivial. No one needed to defend himself on any level but that of his ideas. No argument was final. It would all be fought through again, perhaps not three times a week but whenever there was fresh information, or fresh energy to explore the subject. Geran caught himself. Pomposity must be contagious. If it was, he hoped he would catch something else along with it. Detachment, maybe. Or objectivity. Or plain persistence.

As they rode out through the city gates, Geran and Alvor were called to the front of the procession, where Alvor's uncle greeted them warmly. Geran did his best to feign enthusiasm and gratitude. Alvor just looked bored.

They rode for more than an hour, before the topography began to change, sprouting shrubbery and trunks creeper-clad. The wood was made up of magnificent trees and festooning vines, where man made arbors invited one to a cool rest, and spreading branches shielded from the head of the sun. One every side, stupendous trees with trunks creeper-clad. A white butterfly trimmed with black silk polka dots fluttered across their path, while another of black chiffon poised delicately among the green, and a brilliant-hued hummingbird flashed from flower to flower. In the midst of the stillness his ears caught the sound of a deer sharpening his horns upon the body of a tree. As the cry of the beaters was raised, fat forest fowl swept slowly and heavily along above their heads, giving a plain challenge to the archers. Three graceful deer came leaping over impassable fastnesses and the sound of bow strings humming mingled with yells of men.

Despite his initial reluctance, Geran soon found himself getting caught up in the frenzy and excitement of the hunt. Although fowl was not his preferred pray, he soon picked up the trail of a stag and followed it through the tangled meshwork of tree and underbrush. The tracks led him out of the denser tangle of forest into an open grove. The moss was blood spattered and as he looked across the open grass he saw a huge stag, it's hind legs caught in the jaws of a lion.

Geran felt a rush of shock the size of the feline, gold-tufted and heavily muscled. This was a lion in the wild? His thoughts went momentarily back to the statues he had observed with Melisinde weeks ago. He watched, mesmerized, as the lion caught his scent and turned his head, spotting him. The stag stumbled weakly away, trying to make it's escape while the lion's attention swiveled to Geran. The lion shook its head and then leaped into the air, going for Geran's mount. The horse immediately reared back, whinnying in fear, lifting its forelegs and almost unseating Geran. As his saddle tilted, Geran jammed his heels into the stallion's sides, reaching for his sword.

Before he'd even unsheathed it, however, there was the twang of a bowstring from over head and the lion roared as an arrow buried itself in his side with a solid _thunk_. Two more shots followed and the big cat finally toppled over and lay motionless.

"Hellooo there." A girlish voice called from above him.

Geran, pulling his mount back into control beneath him, turned his gaze upwards. On one of the tree limbs was crouched a small girl. Her hair was the color of autumn leaves, held away from her face with what looked like twine made of shredded tree bark. Her olive skin had a green undercast, that Geran momentarily took for an illusion of the forest shadows. Her limbs were slender and thin and she held a bow in one hand, a quiver of arrows slung over her left shoulder.

"You're a dryad." Geran said in surprise, recognizing her species immediately. She giggled and swung down from the tree, dropping gracefully to the mossy forest floor. She was barely five feet in high, bare foot, and scantily dressed in what looked like a child's tunic.

"My name's Xyril." She told him, grinning. "You are Prince Geran aren't you? Her highness described you to me. She didn't tell me you were so large." The petite girl eyed him, her smile no longer as innocent.

The Rivan Prince cleared his throat. "Can I help you with something?" he inquired politely. Geran knew enough about dryads. His mother was a half blood and he'd visited his maternal relative in The Wood of Dryads on once or twice during previous visits to Tolnedra. He wondered if Xantha had sent the girl.

As if reading his thoughts she said, "Queen Xantha asked me to bring you a message."

"Oh?"

"She needs to speak with you. She said to tell you it's a matter of gravest urgency." The dryad girl's long fingers plucked her bow string idly. "I'm suppose to escort you to our forest as quickly as possible. If you're very busy, you can refuse to go with me. I'd be more than happy to force you." This she said with a sweet little smile, eyes full of enthusiasm.

"Ah…no. I'd actually been planning to visit Xantha while the weather was optimal anyway. And if she says it's urgent I think I'd best go. Did she mention anything about what it is she wants to talk to me about?"

The dryad was pouting, just a bit, her full bottom lip stuck out. "Just that the plot to assassinate the imperial family is not so simple as it might seem. Whatever that means." She added the last indifferently, shrugging her shoulders.

Geran's blood chilled just a bit. From not the far off, he heard the crashing of bushes under hooves and the shouting of the rest of the hunting party. They must have heard the lion's roar and followed it to his location. Geran turned back to the dryad girl, who stood watching him patiently.

"I have to return to the city with my companions. Will you wait here for me until this evening? We can leave then for the Wood of the Dryad."

She gave him a skeptical look. "This isn't a plot to escape is it?"

Geran sighed inwardly. "I'm not planning to escape Xyril. It's clear that Queen Xantha has something important to tell me and I most definitely _do _want to know what it is."

"Alright." The dryad said with grudging acceptance. "But you had better be back by tonight."

"Promise. You'd better keep out of sight so they don't see you." He cautioned.

She glanced in the direction of the noise and then, as gracefully as she'd gotten to the ground, slipped into the dense shadows of the canopy again just as several members of the hunting party crashed through the trees into the little grove. Malgon was among them and he rode his horse over to Geran. His expression was worried.

"We heard a lion roar," he told Geran.

"Yeah. He took me by surprise." The prince replied, pointing towards the dead beast laying in the grass.

Malgon looked over at it, expression going from worried to impressed. "You did a good job for someone who was caught by surprise. There aren't suppose to be any lions in this wood."

Geran shrugged, glad that Malgon took him at face value to be the one who'd taken the creature down. He didn't want to have to explain about the dryad or Xantha's summons. "Tell that to him."


	19. Chapter Nineteen: The Queen

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART TWO: TOLNEDRA_

**Chapter Nineteen: The Queen**

It was a few hours past noon when their company made their way back into the city of Tol Honeth. The dead lion was draped over the saddle of a horse at the front of the procession, proudly displayed. It wasn't until near twilight, however, that Geran and Alvor managed to make their escape from the hunting party and Alvor's uncle. Once they'd managed to steal themselves back to Alvor's apartments, Geran wasted no time in preparing what he'd need for travel to the Wood of the Dryads. The Horbite lord took up the chore of penning a letter to his Uncle Varana and the crown prince Varrob, once Geran gave him a recount of his encounter with the nymph Xyril.

He rode out of the city of Tol Honeth again a scant three hours after his return, with Wolf loping along next to his mount. The sunlight had just begun to fade into purple twilight by the time Geran returned to the forest, but the heavy shadows of the trees made everything seem as dim as the deep middle of the night. He didn't both to be quiet as he crashed his horse through the underbrush, hoping the noise would alert the dryad to his presence and draw her out of wherever she had hidden herself.

All at once she broke into a meadow, soaked in the dusk light and the pale glow of the moon and the spattering of stars. The sudden illumination dazzled him and he reined his mount to a halt, and found himself staring in surprise. In the center of the clearing stood a broad, gnarled stump. On it lay a flat board covered with red and white figurines of extraordinary delicacy. Not one of them was taller than Geran's hand was long.

To one side, on a fallen tree, sat a gigantic man all of a sparkling blue color, as if he'd been fashioned out of a monstrous sapphire. One of his hands could engulf Geran's chest. The crown of his head brushed the leaves of the oak tree he sat under. Skin, hair, eyes, all shone bluer than the sea. His plaited beard might be a gentle ocean wave itself. His jerkin, mail and hose were so blue the sky paled next to them. On the other side of the board stood a tiny man, barely as tall as the figurines in front of him. His mottled gray-white garments and peaked hat made him look like a mushroom that had decided to walk about.

Geran was rooted to the spot, unable to move or think. Both creatures turned to regard her frozen there. The great, blue giant smiled so broadly she could see his teeth were indeed sapphires that flashed in the sun. The tiny man looked back to the board and its figurines. Grunting with the effort, he picked up one the same size as himself. He teetered under its weight, but he struggled towards the middle of the board and set it down. Geran still could not make a sound.

"It's a game of chess," the giant's voice boomed all around Geran's head and his eyes glittered as if he had caught two stars in them. "And a merry game it is, too. Would you learn this game of nations and of power, Unchosen God? Step forward, then."

Geran found his feet moving. Without any thought, he dismounted from his horse. Belatedly he realized that Wolf too had been locked in stasis and that now the creature moved along at his side as he approached the board. Now he saw that the figurines were people, men and women all standing on a board inlaid with neat squares of ebony and ivory.

"Harumph!" grunted the tiny man. He stomped back to his perch on the board's edge, frowning gruffly.

The giant let out a laugh so loud Geran thought he would go deaf. "Now then, which side for you Unchosen God? The red?" He pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow. "I think not. The red king has already crossed you, hasn't he?" He plucked a scarlet figurine from its place and Geran saw a man with a lean, lined face and hooded eyes who wore a crown etched with the shape of a large snarling cat of some breed—a tiger or a panther perhaps.

"No no." The giant went on. "The white is your side, and the white queen will be you ally, I think." Another figurine lay nestled in the hallow his enormous palm, although Geran didn't see him put down the first. This one was a woman, perfectly formed, with long hair arranged in hundreds of tiny braids, crowned with a diadem shaped like phoenix. She looked no more than a year or two younger than he, her eyes were wide and ink black and her face was somehow very regal. "And the white king." Another figurine appeared in his palm. This one was a young boy of only nine or ten, however he wore a heavy gold crown, shaped like a dragon, on his curling black hair.

"Perhaps you will be able to aid the white queen in protecting him from the red king. Ah but you must be very careful the red queen. For she holds a great and terrible power." The giant shook his head gravely and then looked at Geran. "You do not speak, Unchosen God. Perhaps chess is not the game for you?" The sparkling blue face grew fierce. Geran felt a moment of apprehension, but still he could not move.

"Perhaps he prefers riddles," suggested the tiny man.

"Ah, an excellent thought, my friend!" The giant slapped the stump and all the figurines rattled on the board. "Now answer me this and be quick, Unchosen God." He leaned over him, blocking the moon with his great, blue head. "What decides a nation?"

The scene in front of him began to blur and fade, as if it were a painting being washed away. The giant laughed again, accompanied by the shrill giggle of his minute companion. "Answer! Answer!" he ordered. "Answer, Unchosen God!"

A noise. From the forest. A sharp, musical voice. Drawing closer. He blinked and he was in a tiny moonlit grove, disturbed by the gentle evening wind. The sound of a voice grew very close. All of the sudden the tiny girl, Xyril, burst from the trees.

"You!" She exclaimed when she saw him, her tiny face looking just a bit pouty. "There you are. What are you doing?"

Geran suddenly discovered that his tongue could move again. He stared in blank awe at the space where the giant and his companion had been moments ago. "I…I'm not sure." He turned to regard the tiny dryad and she looked back at him with undisguised dissatisfaction. "I was looking for you earlier."

Her expression instantly turned a touch embarrassed. "I was napping," she confessed before quickly hurrying on. "Anyway, are you ready to come with me now? I can _persuade_ you some, if you'd like." She fingered her bow as she made the offer.

"No…" Geran said slowly, his gaze returning to that spot where the chessboard had been. "I'm ready."

"Oh! What's that?" Xyril suddenly exclaimed, leaning over something lying in the grass.

Geran looked. There, nestled in a bed of moss, was a perfectly carved chess piece. The white queen.

Geran had plenty of time to muse over his strange encounter during the journey to the Wood of the Dryads. The Rivan prince was no stranger to unusual going-ons and strange occurrences. Between his Aunt Pol, his Uncle Durnik, his grandparents, and of course his father, Geran was very familiar with sorcery and magic. Not to mention there was, of course, the legendary Orb of Aldur. On top of all that, his family was very close friends with the Angarak god, Eriond. And yet, that apparition in the forest had been unusual, even by his unorthodox standards. He might have been convinced it was all a dream, but the white queen chess piece rested heavy in his pocket.

During one of the intervals when he managed to convince Xyril to stop so he could rest, Geran took Wolf aside to speak to him.

"One does not think," Wolf said, when Geran broached the subject, "that it was the type of sorcery with which One is familiar. It did not smell like the types of doing which Ones pack practices."

"But you saw it as well?" Geran asked. "The blue man and the chess board."

"One did. Though One could not move or make sound." Unlike Geran, Wolf did not seem all that disturbed or unnerved by what had happened. Geran had noticed that about wolves. Very little seemed to seriously cause them any prolonged upset and they certainly didn't stress about things. Even Wolf, who was quite humanized by standards, displayed this trait.

"One could not either." Geran frowned to himself. "Who was he? And what did all that mean? That talk about nations and chess..."

"Perhaps," Wolf suggested "it has something to do with what the She whom we are going to see wishes to speak of."

"Hm, maybe."

* * *

It was a bright but cool afternoon when the reached the Wood of the Dryad. It had been many years since Geran had last ventured into the protected forest, but it was just as he remembered it. The trees were truly massive, revealing their age in their size. Though other than sheer enormity of the growth, it didn't immediately seem any different than any other woodland; there was a strange air in the Wood of the Dyads absent from any other. A sense of awareness, of being watched. And not only by the all female race that populated the area. It was as if the trees themselves were conscious observers.

They'd barely gone more then a few yards, before the he sensed they were not alone. There was a slight rustle in the tree tops and then a small party came to meet them. Like Xyril they were all petite young women with that strange, green undertone to their skin. They were armed with bows and arrows and their autumn hair was ornamented with flowers or acorns or sprigs of leaves. The dryad in front had curly hair, held up with a comb decorated with chestnuts. She frowned seriously at Xyril.

"What took you so long?" The petite girl demanded.

"It moves very slowly, Xiana." Xyril explained. "And I couldn't threaten it properly, since Queen Xantha wants it alive. How is she doing?"

"Now well," the other dryad—Xiana—replied heavily. "We don't know how much longer she can hold out. And it's not just her either. Some of our older sisters as well..."

Xyril's eyes had gone very well. "No!"

"What's going on?" Geran asked, confused by the atmosphere and the conversation.

Xiana's attention swung to him, her pretty eyes marred by a hardness. "Queen Xantha will want to tell you herself. You'll have to walk from here. And quickly. We cannot keep her waiting."

The party of dryads escorted him the rest of the way through the dense forest. From overhead he caught glimpses of movement; a tawny limb, a trail of clothing, or a bright glimmer of hair. And he heard the murmur of voices and felt the weight of stares, but there was no playful laughter and no cheery bells. It seemed, in fact, as if a grave sobriety had washed over the wood. Even though the day was bright and clear it somehow seemed..gloomy.

Queen Xantha's tree lay just ahead, the most enormous in the wood. Easily the size of a noble's castle, the huge oak seemed to blot out the blue sky with its reaching limbs, cradling the afternoon sun in its branches. There was something different about the tree, however, than the last time he had been there. There were leaves, no blossoms, growing on the limbs. The tree itself seemed dried out, its bark peeling and flaking off in places. The grass about its roots was of any seedling as well and, in fact, the ground there looked as if it were going through the early stages of drought, despite the copious amount of rainfall just the previous week.

"We will watch after the animal you ride." Xiana told him, her expression still grave. "Queen Xantha is waiting for you inside her tree. Xyril will show you the way."

"Come quickly." Xyril commanded, flitting across the dry gross towards one of the hallows in the oak's massive trunk.

Geran left his mount with the other dryads and followed after Xyril, stepping into the pitch blackness of the inside of the tree. There wasn't a shred of light, except behind him and even that began to fade the deeper he moved into the tree. His own vision failing him, the Rivan prince was forced to rely on Wolf to guide him as Xyril lead him through the dark cavern of the oak's interior.

All at once he saw shards of sunlight piercing through the gloom, bright and golden in the shadows. And suddenly the darkness was gone and the light dazzled him, blinding his vision for a moment. When his eyes cleared, he saw he was in a massive cavern created by a hollowed out section of the three. Sunlight streamed in through holes in the bark like misshapen windows. The cavern resembled nothing so much as someone's personal chambers. There was a divan off to one side and a huge, exquisitely wrought mirror easily taller than he. Several chests, not unlike the one which Melisinde had trundled up the Karand ambassador in. And in the center of the room was a huge bed. Its posts were attached to the floor, as if it had been carved out of the tree itself, etched with vines of ivy, holly leaves, acorns, and blooming flowers. And lying on the majestic bed was Xantha, the queen of the dryads.

Like everything else, he saw immediately, Xantha was very much changed from last he'd seen her. Her long hair was no longer rich and lustrous; her skin was pale and almost grayish, the trademark green blush adding a sickly cast. She was wan and thin and there was a fragile weakness in her face and an exhaustion in the bright eyes that opened as he approached her bedside.

"Queen Xantha," Xyril said, kneeling. "I've brought the one you sent me out to fetch. The one called Geran."

Xantha smiled at the young girl. "Thank you, Xyril." Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper and came from her lips like leaves stirred by a breeze rustling over each other. She turned to look at Geran. "Thank you for coming, dear Geran."

"Xantha." He said affectionately, moving a bit closer, trying to reign in the shock on his face. He had not expected her condition. "What's wrong? Are you ill?"

"I am, indeed." She answered weakly. "But, it is more than an ordinary illness which afflicts me. I have lived as long as my tree. Many centuries have passed since I became queen. My time to leave this world was near at hand. However…" She raised a hand and examined the gaunt limb. "however _this_ is not a natural death."

Geran felt a chill that ran to his bones. "You're dying?"

"I am. I can feel the life flowing from me and I cannot stop it." Her face became even more troubled. "And it is not only I who am suffering."

"I…I don't understand."

"Many of the older ones, including my daughter Xera, have also become weakened and sickly. They too can feel their lives fading."

"Why? Is it…" but try as he might, he could not come up with an explanation. He knew nothing about medical studies or epidemics.

"I do not know." Xantha shook her head sadly. "But, that is not what I asked you here to speak of. I have news I must share with you, which I believe is of grave importance."

Geran was loathe to let the matter drop, but he did not wish to exhaust Xantha further by arguing with her and so he inclined his head obediently. "Xyril mentioned that it had something to do with the assassination plot orchestrated by the Karandese ambassador."

"Yes. My body has weakened and at times I sleep and I dream. And why I dream my spirit wanders the vast world. Since last summer, I have felt something frightening abroad. Not only frightening…powerful…empty…hungry." A shudder vibrated her fragile form as if it would break her.

"Do you know what it is?"

"That I could not see. I only know that it has been moving through the east. And very recently has come to settle in the place which the humans call Karanda."

"You think it has something to do with the assassination plot?"

"I believe such is the case, though just what I cannot discern. But, this cannot be. You must carry word back to Riva. To your father and to Polgara and Belgarath. Surely they must again-" but a fit of coughing suddenly seized the dryad queen.

Xyril went quickly to her side with a little cry of worry, urging the queen the lie back down. Weakly, Xantha settled back into her pillows, her lashes lowering down over her eyes for a moment and a weary sigh easing from between her lips like the whisper of the wind.

"Is there," Geran spoke gently. "anything that can be done for you?"

Xantha's eyes opened again. "No, dear Geran. I have no strength or energy left. I managed only to hold out until your arrival, that I might give these words to you."

"There has to be something!" He said, suddenly frustrated.

"No Geran. This is the end for me." She smiled then, gently, wisely, radiantly. She lifted a hand and touched it to his cheek and Geran was shocked to find that skin was cold as ice, as if she were already a corpse. "There are kings and queen and emperors, but truly, you are the heir to all the world. I believe that what is wrong with the world will be put to rights again. That is, the glory of existence."

And then her eyes closed again, her cold hand slumped from his cheek and fell heavily upon the bed. Xyril let out of a cry of deep despair, shuddering into heavy tears as Queen Xantha released a final breath and with the grace of a flower folding up before the turn of winter, died.


	20. Chapter Twenty: Pawns of Politics

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART TWO: TOLNEDRA_

**Chapter Twenty: Pawns of Politics**

For a long moment, it seemed as if Geran had again been rendered silent and incapable of motion. The only sound in the hollow interior of the great oak was Xyril's deep weeping. Geran reach out gently and folded the dryad queen's hands across her chest. "Sleep well, your majesty", he thought as sadness settled in his heart. It redoubled at the thought of carrying the news of Xantha's death back to his mother. The Rivan Queen would surely weep as deeply as Xyril at her passing.

What the queen had told him weighed heavily on his mind. Something terrible and powerful that had settled in Karanda. What did that mean? Was it a person? A monster? Or…something else? And why would it have any interest in the politics of Tolnedra? Ordinary men, he could understand. There were countless ambitions that fueled the duplicity of ordinary men, but…something not human? It didn't make any sense.

He was frowning himself when a growl split the air, pouring from Wolf. Geran looked down at his companion in surprise. Wolf's hackles were raised, his ears alert, and his white teeth were bared.

"What is it?" Geran asked him in the language of the wolves.

"We must leave this place quickly." Wolf told him. "It is no longer safe."

"What?" But even as he asked, Geran felt a tremor around him. At first just a single shiver that seemed to shake the foundation of the tree and then suddenly it escalated to something that felt like an earthquake. Xyril's tawny head came up, revealing her tear streaked face, her damp eyes going wide.

"What's going on?" The dryad asked, panic in her voice.

Geran sprung into action, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the entrance they'd come through. "We have to get out of here."

But before they even reached the mouth of the chamber, the high ceiling of the hallow began to collapse. Heavy slabs of wood and bark crashed to the ground. Geran only narrowly managed to dive out of the way of one and avoid being struck on the head. He stumbled and fell and from his vantage saw that the slab of wood had been so brittle and rotted that it had broken into hundreds of splinters the moment it hit the floor. More fragments continued to rain down and Geran realized that it wasn't an earthquake. The tree was dying and as it did it was collapsing in on itself. There was no way they could escape the way they'd come. They wouldn't make it through the thick trunk in time.

A shaft of sunlight struck him on the face and he turned to look at the high openings near the top of the hollowed chamber. It was their only chance.

Geran sprung to his feet again, rushing towards the ornate chests in the corner of the room. He ignored Xyril's demand for explanation, lugging the chests to the lowest of the "windows" and stacking them up on each other. When he had piled as many as he could up, he climbed atop them and gestured to Xyril.

"Come on."

She understood immediately and rushed to his side. Without a word she clamored up his make shift ladder and stood on his shoulder. With an agile leap she made it to the opening in the thick trunk and out into the streaming sunlight. Geran turned to look down at Wolf, not stopping to wonder how he would escape after. His first concern was getting Xyril and Wolf to safety.

"You next." Geran told him.

"One will go last." Wolf said.

"One will not go without you."

"Nor this one without you." Wolf replied with absolute finality.

Geran felt simultaneously irritated and touched by the resolution. He leaned inadvertently against the wood and felt it crack and slide beneath his hands. Another idea occurred to him.

"Get on my shoulders." He suggested to Wolf. "Use your claws to tear through the bark."

Wolf let his tongue loll out and obediently scrambled awkwardly up. The ceiling continued to rain splinters and chucks of wood and Geran felt the lupine's hind claws tearing his clothing and skin as the beast awkwardly tried to find footing. At last Wolf's for paws were against the bark and without hesitation he began to tear away at the rotting wood. Geran closed his eyes to avoid being blinded by the showering pieces of bark directly above him. The sound inside the hallow was monstrous, cracking and splitting and crashes like thunder. He rocked and teetered, but willed himself to maintain his balance.

It was not the burrowing which they were saved by however. From just above him he heard a high voice call his name and Geran dared to look up. Xyril's tiny face appeared in the window she'd escaped through and she dropped a sling made of stout vine through, gesturing to him to be quick.

"Get in!" Geran ordered Wolf, helping him fit himself through the sling, before grasping the knot of the vine himself.

Xyril turned and shouted something down below and the vine was hoisted. There was a massive crack, like rock being split in two, and the wall of bark gave way. Geran felt the head of sunlight and the rush of cool air. His vision was a blur of the blue blue sky and the brown of trees and he felt himself falling through air and fragments of wood. And then the vine which he held went taunt and he was suddenly suspended several feet in the air, the vine slung over the branch of a nearby maple tree and anchored by a dozen or so of the bright haired dryads.

Right before his eyes, Xantha's oak tree shuddered and then, like a burning house, collapsed inwards until it was no more than a mountain of splinters.

"That isn't supposed to happen." Xiana was saying as Geran and Wolf were lowered to the forest floor. A cloud of dust had gone up briefly as the remains of Xantha's tree settled, filling the clearing with the sell of oak and rot. Dozens of dryads filled the trees around him and all looked either restless and afraid or were weeping openly.

Almost as soon as he was on his feat again Xyril flew into his arms, hanging off his neck. "Thank you for saving me," she said and kissed his cheek. Her lips were still damp from her tears.

"You're welcome." Geran told her, accepting the display of affection without embarrassment. "Although, you saved me too." He turned his attention towards Xiana. "Do you mean trees don't always collapse like this when they and their dryad die?"

"Not immediately." Xiana said. "Eventually the tree returns to the earth, but it's a slow process and takes dozens of years. It never happens like this!"

A murmur went up through the wood, panicked and frightful. Geran could not blame them. He stared at the ruins of Xantha's tree.

"Who will be the new queen of the dryads?" He asked.

"Princess Xera," Xyril said from her place still hanging from his neck. "But she is also very ill and her strength waning. The queen's nieces as well, they are ill within their trees just like Queen Xantha was."

"What is happening to our wood?" A high voice from among the multitude of dryads in the trees demanded.

Geran gently removed Xyril's arms from his neck. "I have to return to the imperial city." He told Xiana and the other assembled dryads. I'll return to Riva to tell my father King Belgarion and my mother Queen CeNedra what's happened. And I'll get word to Polgara and Belgarath as well." He promised.

At the mention of his grandfather, there was a ripple of the old sorcerer's name among the trees. Xiana looked contemplative.

"Belgarath is a powerful sorcerer. He and Polgara were good friends with Queen Xantha. Maybe they can tell us what's going on." Xiana turned to one of her sisters. "Bring his animal. Humans are faster when they ride them."

In no time Geran was saddled again and thundering his way out of the wood of the dryad, back towards the City of Tol Honeth.

* * *

Geran rode hard as he made his way back to the imperial city. He paused very little and slept even less. During one instance the Rivan prince fell asleep in the saddle.

He dreamed about the white queen. Not the abstract, carved chess piece still in his pocket, but as she'd appeared on the blue giant's checkered board. He saw her long braids and her night dark eyes and her phoenix crown. He saw her crouched on the floor of a bed chamber, strangely decorated. She held a young boy in her slender arms. One of her hands pressed his face protectively against her chest and the other hand held a blood stained dagger. On the carpet a few feet away was the sprawled body of a man dressed all in black, his face covered and a gaping wound in his chest. There was a second blade resting an inch or two from the dead man's limp fingers.

The boy shifted and she dropped the knife and enveloped him completely in her embrace. Her lips moves as she spoke something to the boy. Geran could not hear her voice-it was as if the scene was muted-but he somehow knew the words that came from them.

"With my life, I swear, I will protect you." She said.

There was suddenly a great deal of banging on the door to the chamber. Both she and Geran looked towards the entrance, but just as it swung open the Rivan prince was jolted roughly awake, courtesy of a burst of pain from his back. His eyes snapped open and he stared up into the dark blue expanse of night sky and Wolf's investigative muzzle. He'd fallen off his horse.

Geran made it back to the imperial city of Tol Honeth not long after the dream. He didn't brother wasting time in pausing at Alvor's house. Instead he rode right for the imperial palace. The fact that the guard's did not hesitate to admit him, nor that they did not wait for explanation or order did not register to him. As soon as he entered the courtyard someone took his horse and escorted him to the imperial wing before he could say a word.

Prince Varrob and Princess Eldanne were in the sitting room that he was brought to. Eldanne's hair was arranged into curls behind her small gold crown and she wore a dress of rose colored silk. Varrob was dressed in his military uniform and seated at a desk, penning something on a heavy sheet of parchment. Both got to their feet as Geran was brought in.

"I need a ship to take me back to Riva." He was short of breath, but he managed to force the words out.

His cousins' faces were both somber, Eldanne's eyes full of sympathy. "So you've heard already." The Tolnedran princess said sadly.

Confusion rushed through Geran's sleep deprived brain. "Heard? Heard what?"

The crown prince and princess exchanged quizzical looks. Varrob turned back to Geran first. "About your mother," the imperial prince said. "Isn't that why you want a ship to Riva? We've already arranged for one to be waiting for you in the harbor."

Geran felt a chill. "My mother? What's wrong with my mother?"

"We sent a runner to tell you." Eldanne spoke again this time. "Varana received a letter from your father the other day. Queen Ce'Nedra is dangerously ill. Your father wants you come home as quickly as possible."

* * *

It was only Eldanne's calm convincing that made Geran consent to wait until his belongings had been packed, instead of going immediately to the harbor. He guessed she'd sent a servant down to Alvor's house, because not twenty minutes later the Horbite lord appeared. Alvor, for once, seemed in different spirits. There was none of his dismissive arrogance in his bearing as he joined Geran.

"Are you alright?" The nobleman asked him.

"I'll be fine. My patience is being strained at the moment, though. Can't they get this done any faster?" He demanded in frustration.

"We could whip them. But you've always seemed to frown on that sort of thing." Alvor remarked with the patience that was escaping Geran at the moment. "Calm down, Geran. You will be less than useless if you do not."

Geran had to acknowledge that his friend was right. The lump he still had on the back of his head from his tumble off his mount seconded the nobleman's words. Alvor did not speak as he sat beside Geran. Nor did he ask about how his trip to the Wood of the Dryad had been. For once, Geran felt extremely grateful that his friend was not the loquacious sort. He did not feel interested in conversation at the moment.

It was long past sundown when Varrob came to tell him that his things had been loaded onto the ship and that it was only awaiting him before it sailed.

"A safe and speedy journey, Geran." Varrob wished him, clasping Geran to his chest affectionately. "I hope Aunt Ce'Nedra is alright."

"Thank you Varrob." Geran said sincerely, before turning to catch Eldanne as she flung herself at him for a hug.

"I'm sure she'll be fine, Geran." The crown princess assured him. She pulled back and smiled at him softly. "It was wonderful, having you with us these past months. Make sure to write us and keep us abreast of Queen Ce'Nedra's condition."

"I will, Eldanne." He promised.

A guard arrived then and Geran was escorted to the harbor. The ship waiting for him was small, with huge white sails that shifted and rippled in the evening wind. As the ship prepared the leave the harbor, Geran went to have a brief chat with the captain. They planned to sail down the Nedrane river, out into the Great Western Sea and then around the continental coast to Riva. Geran had just come up onto deck again and gone to the railing when he heard a familiar voice from behind him declare,

"Oh, there you are. I was starting to think maybe I'd gotten on the wrong boat."

Geran turned around to see Alvor strolling across the deck towards him. He stared in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"That should be obvious." Alvor replied. "I'm going with you. With my new found popularity, I could use a vacation. And what better place to re-do my research than actually in Aloria? Besides, you might need moral support."

The idea of receiving moral support from Alvor, of all people, was ludicrous. So ludicrous, in fact, that Geran felt the first inclination to laugh the he'd had in days.

Everything would be fine, he told himself. Everything had to be fine. Once he got to Riva he'd be back among friends and family. He'd see his Aunt Pol taking care of his mother. He'd tell them what had happened in the Wood of the Dryad. And everything would be fine.

He hoped.

**- END PART TWO -**

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* * *

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**A/N**: Part Three will return to catch up with Sithli, Urgar, and Eridis. Ultimately there will be five parts to _The World in A Downward Tilt_. The proceeding parts, however, will have fewer chapters than Part One and Part Two, however. I apologize for the long hiatus-induced by end of term responsibilities. Now that it's summer I will have much more time to devote to writing. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and continues to reviews! I really appreciate them! They give me a lot of my motivation.

Also, for anyone who's interested there's an absolutely stunning map created by ~Crooty of deviantart (.com/art/Belgariad-and-Malloreon-Map-157252698), which I've been using for reference.

And now, on to Part Three!


	21. Chapter Twenty One: Memories from the Ea

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART THREE: MALLOREA_

**Chapter Twenty One: Memories from the Eastern Continent**

Summer had set in by the time Imperial Princess Sithli of Mallorea reached the western coast of the continent. The gentle spring weather that had marked the beginning of their journey had now evolved into high temperatures that made their days of traveling feel long and hard and left them weary at the end of each day.

The Mallorean princess thought to blame her dreams on the heat and that weariness. For the last several weeks, the images she'd seen when she laid down to rest had all been either very strange or retrospective in the extreme. At first, she re-lived memories from her time at the university each night. Hours by the fire pouring over three volume novels, singing in the dean's garden, piecing together last minute assignments for the instructors. She was forced to once again go through the discovery of The Sudden Prophecy, the long days spent doing research alone and later along side Eridis. And of course she saw Menary—Menary as she'd first appeared that early winter evening when she'd arrived at the gates of the university, Menary smirking in the dining hall after her Sithli's audience with the dean, Menary with her unnatural halo of fire as it seared away her hair.

As if fascinated by this theme, her dreams sped her along through the journey she'd made over the last two months that had taken her from The Melcene Islands. Along with Crown Prince Urgar of Cthol Murgos and her schoolmate Eridis of Dal Zerba, she'd been battered across the ocean to Peldane to begin the first leg of their journey. One that would take them across land to the western coast. Although the university scholars had always insisted that the shortest distance between any two locations was a straight line, the party had decided that a straight line would take them through Karanda. A serious risk considering the present turmoil in the Seven Kingdoms. Instead they decided to go across land to the southern region of the Dalasian Protectorates and then take a ship up the coast to avoid crossing the Dalasian Mountains and then go inland again. Along the way they'd passed through Gandahar. One of her roaming dreams recalled this portion of their journey.

On her first mornings away from the university she'd had a habit of waking in time for the Dean's lecture. In the half-light of early morning, she laid in the unaccustomed luxury of a featherbed and considered matters. It was strange to realize that she would not need to rise early for that lecture, nor any other ever again. Her time as a student was over. Now she was crown princess of Mallorea once again. Now she was The Dreaming Princess, whatever that entailed. Duty called. She had to rise and answer. Instead, she'd pulled the coverlet up over her face and fell asleep again.

As the present Sithli watched her dream unfold, she saw herself wake a second time when Eridis entered the room and drop a neatly wrapped box on her stomach.

"Do you mean to sleep all day?" The sedate girl inquired.

Curiously, Sithli peered over the coverlet. "What time is it?"

The bedroom was filled with light. Eridis was silhouetted against the windows, fussing with the drapes. "Past noon. I've rung for a meal. If you hurry, you'll be finished in time for luncheon." Eridis turned away from the windows. She was wearing a stylishly enormous hat, the veil still down. As she neared the bed, Sithli pushed herself up on her pillows in surprise.

"Get rid of that veil, Eridis. It makes you look a hundred years old."

Eridis stopped in front of one of the great gold-framed mirrors that flanked the fireplace and started to extract hatpins. "I mean to look a hundred years old. A fine figure you'd cut, larking around with only a slip of a girl like me for a chaperon." Veil still down, she turned to Sithli. The features behind the thin material were Eridis', but Eridis' in forty years, or fifty. She lifted the veil and her own young face returned. "I was glad to find I could keep up the illusion once I left the university. But oh, how it makes my head ache and face itch. You've no notion."

"That was…witchcraft?" Sithli saw herself shift in bet, sit up and come fully awake. She cast a glance around the room, saw the stacks of boxes on the divan, and more boxes scattered across the rugs. "What have you _done_?"

"A bit of witchcraft, yes. And don't sound so horrified. I just ran out to find a few things for you to wear."

"I few things?" her voice was puzzled. "How did you know what would fit?"

"I didn't. That's why I had to bring an assortment. We'll send back the rest."

"Oh. What for?"

Eridis shook her head. "I'll let Urgar explain it to you, since he's the one who found out. He has the room on the opposite side of our suite—so methodical of them, don't you think. Anyway, I left him waiting in the sitting room while I came to wake you. Hurry and get dressed."

The dream seemed to shift some and now Sithli saw herself fully dressed and seated in a sparsely furnished sitting room. Eridis sat in the chair next to her own. Across a table laid with the trappings of a noontime meal sat the Urgar, the crown prince of Cthol Murgos. He was slouching in his chair, one leg hooked over the arm, chin propped on one hand.

For a moment the scene had no sound, although she could see Eridis' lips moving. And then suddenly it was as if someone adjusted the volume and Urgar said, "I thought that town's name sounded strangely familiar and so I decided to do a bit of walking around, to see if it jogged my memory and found out something very interesting."

"Oh?" Sithli heard herself ask. "What's that?"

"Apparently this is Menary's home town." The Murgo prince revealed. "That big house we rode by on our way to the inn? Apparently that is her family residence."

"Isn't _that_ interesting." Eridis murmured.

Sithli looked between the both of them. "You think she's gone home?"

"No." Urgar said plainly. "In fact, I heavily doubt it. But there is a possibility that her relatives might be able to give us some hint to where she might have fled to. Eridis and I thought it might be beneficial if you paid them a visit."

Her attention turned to Eridis. "Is that the reason why you bought me things to play dress up with? What's wrong with the clothes I have?"

"If Menary's boasting is anything to go by, her family is quite elitist. Urgar and I have surmised that they'd be much more receptive to Imperial Princess Sithli of Mallorea in all her pomp and glory than to simply Menary's classmate Sithli."

"Why not Urgar? He has a title."

"Urgar is a male." Eridis explained patiently, as if Sithli might have failed to notice this fact. "His asking after Menary might be taken in…the wrong fashion."

"Oh." The Mallorean princess said. "Just when did you think I should make this visit?"

"Tomorrow morning, if possible," Urgar said. "We don't want to waste any more time than necessary. Not if we want to reach Mal Zeth as soon as possible."

The dream changed again and now Sithli saw herself arriving at the Cacoelle residence on the edge of the city. It lay behind courtyard walls; a great turreted house with a watchtower looming over its widespread wings. While Urgar, disguised as her man-at-arms, paid the carriage driver, Sithli stared. There was nothing of the Melcene symmetry about the jumble of architecture that contributed to the house—pointed windows, deep gables, slate roof—yet there was nothing of disorder either. Nestled in its courtyard, a place of quiet within a few hundred yards of the noise of the boulevard, the house achieved grace.

"This is an old place," said Eridis softly, dressed once again in her hat and veil.

"I believe they found ancient ruins nearby," Urgar said, joining them again. "This was the heart of the area several centuries ago."

"No," murmured Eridis, more softly still, "I mean _old_."

Inside, Sithli gave her name to a servant who led them into a lavishly furnished room paneled with linen-fold oak. The servant rang for tea and withdrew, presumably to inform the residents of the house that they had a visitor. Sithli paced, while Eridis stood patiently near a window and Urgar at the door.

"What's taking so long?" Sithli watched herself ask, when she became bored of the pattern of the parquet floor.

"We've only been here twenty minutes." Urgar responded. "That's not very long to find our host in a house of this size. Then there is the time it takes for the servant to return to us."

"Perhaps he's forgotten where he put us," Eridis suggested.

"Or perhaps you are nervous," Urgar offered yet another alternative. "No need to be."

Sithli halted and gave him a petulance glance. "I'll be nervous if I please."

"Certainly, your imperial highness."

Sithli regarded his gravity with deep suspicion. "If you're mocking me, stop it at once."

Urgar adopted and expression that was extremely mournful. "Very good, your imperial highness."

Sithli began to laugh. At that point the servant reappeared and with him a well dressed woman. Sithli recognized her immediately as a relative of Menary's. They had the same beautiful gold hair, although this woman's was curled into tight ringlets, arranged up away from her neck. She had a pair of sharp brown eyes under severe eyebrows and her face was somewhat lined. She looked well into her adult years, but still too young to have a daughter of Menary's age.

"Thank you for waiting, your imperial highness." The woman greeted her with a polite but cool curtsy. "I'm Lady Varidara. I'm told you came to pay a call on my daughter."

"That's right. I apologize for dropping in without any notice. I was passing through on my way home and I thought it might be nice to pay a call to one of my classmates."

"I'm very sorry you went through the trouble for nothing, but Menary is not presently in residence at the moment."

"Oh?" Contriving a look and tone of surprise. "I'd heard that she'd left the university. I assumed…"

The lady frowned coolly. "So you heard about _that_. Well no, I'm afraid she hasn't returned home since her summary dismissal." She folded her hands some.

"I see. You wouldn't happen to know where she went, would you? If it's in the same direction which I'm traveling, I would love to meet up with her somewhere."

"I'm afraid I don't, your highness." The noblewoman replied, with that same polite chill.

Sithli felt the same shocked disapproval through her dream that she'd felt at the time. "Lady Varidara, forgive my manners, but aren't you being a bit nonchalant about the apparent disappearance of your daughter?"

The woman's features turned glacial. "Daughter or no, Menary is now a grown woman. If she chooses not to return home after disgracing herself by being expelled from university, what have I to say about it?" She straightened. "Again, I apologize that you made the trip for nothing, your imperial highness. I'd be honored to attend you further, but I have business I must attend to."

"Of course." Sithli remembered feeling irritation at the woman's manner and how her next words had been said simply for spite. "Please don't let me keep you. I'll just wait for my tea and then be on my way."

Lady Varidara's face tightened, but she said "Of course." The noblewoman curtsied to Sithli again and then stiffly left the room.

"Well that was informative." Urgar remarked, once the room was vacant. "We learned nothing at all."

"Except that Menary clearly has such doting parents." Eridis remarked with neutral sarcasm.

The tea arrived then, the tray carried by a lean woman with graying hair and a round, soft face. She spread out the tea service and poured cups for both Sithli and Eridis. Instead of withdrawing afterward, she hovered awkwardly off to one side, as if caught in indecision. Noticing this, Sithli inquired,

"Is something wrong?"

"If I may, your highness," the maid said nervously, "I heard you're a friend of Lady Menary's."

Quick glances between Eridis and Urgar. She answered, "That's correct."

"Might I ask after how she's doing?" The maid went on, hopefully.

"I'm afraid I don't know. I haven't seen her in some time. I came here hoping to pay her a visit." The maid's face fell, prompting Sithli to add. "Her mother does not seem overly concerned about her whereabouts."

The made laughed derisively. "The lord and lady have never been very concerned with her." And then, as if realizing she'd gone to far, her expression became worried and she added, "Forgive me for saying so, your highness."

"I noticed the same thing myself, actually."

Seeming relieved at having an ally, the maid relaxed. "It's been like that ever since Menary was a child. It's because she was born defective."

"Defective?"

The woman nodded. "She was blind and mute. The master and mistress can't stand anything that makes them look bad, so they always treated her as if she weren't there. And when they did acknowledge her, they treated her like she was an idiot. Back then I was the one responsible for taking care of her."

"But…she had perfect function of both sight and voice at the university."

"Oh yes," the maid nodded. "No one knows what happened. I say it's a miracle. One day, the little mistress was about twelve or so if I remember right, I go to wake her up same as always and it suddenly seems she's able to see and speak as if nothing was ever wrong with her. Well, it unnerved his and her ladyship fiercely. I have to admit that I found her a bit strange afterwards, but it's no way to treat your only child."

"Strange how?"

"Well…" The maid went on reluctantly. "Sometimes I'd catch her talking to herself. And there were instances were I caught her sneaking in or out of the house late at night. And she became absolutely obsessed with prophecies." She went on hurriedly. "But she was just a child. A neglected one at that. I was hoping that her going off the university would do her good, but now she's vanished without a trace and them sitting there seeming happier for it."

The woman had started to cry. Tears of sympathy and worry for the frail, unwanted child she had raised from infancy. A child who had grown up and sold her soul.

"You think The Void restored Menary's vision and voice?" Urgar was saying now. The dream had changed again and now the trio were on their way back to the inn where they were staying. "But why?"

"I don't know," Sithli saw herself reply. "It must be getting something from her in turn. I just don't know what. I'm not even entirely sure what The Void is. Is it a person? A god?"

"Something like Torak, you mean?" Eridis suggested. "Maybe. What do we do now?"

"We keep going west," Urgar replied.

His voice faded into silence as the dream faded abruptly. Sithli felt herself being drawn into wakefulness. Wearily she shifted and felt hard ground beneath her, smelled the burned wood from the past night's fire, and felt the heat of the dawning sun on the side of her face. She opened her eyes slightly and saw the coral sky through a leafy canopy that swayed gently in the morning breeze. Only a few feet away both she could see two blanket wrapped mounds; Eridis and Urgar.

Her wakefulness did not last long. It seemed she'd only gone to blink, but instead her eyes remained shut and she was caught in the grip of her dreams again.

This time what she saw was now her own retrospection. And yet, it was Menary that she saw. She was in a lavish room that was richly furnished. It was evening, judging by the lit candles that cast a flickering orange light into the air. She was dressed in a long, pleated gown the color of cornflowers and she wore several piece of jewelry at her neck, wrists, fingers-a heavy silver belt even sat low on her hips.

Menary's pale face was as beautiful as it had been back at the university. The only thing that was different was her hair. Eridis' fire had burned that all away. Her scalp was completely bare, except for a few painful looking scars. Adjusting a sheer cap on her head, Menary lifted a wig from a mannequin near the vanity table and, very carefully, she fit it onto her head until the wealth of rich, deep blonde curls hung all around her face like a lion's mane.

This was not like her previous dreams, where she'd been reviewing her trek across the continent. She was not a disembodied observer. In this dream, Sithli felt as if she were actually present. She could move about as she willed, almost ghost like, as she watched the scene unfold.

Menary had picked up a mahogany brush from the vanity table and was pulling it through the wig. As her gaze lifted to the mirror she locked eyes with Sithli in the glass. And then, much to the Mallorean princess' shock, she smiled and spoke,

"So you've come to spy on me," Menary said, watching her in the looking glass as she continued brushing the curls. "That's very Drasnian of you."

Sithli had to resist the urge to glance around the room. She knew it was completely empty. Menary could be addressing no one but her. Her blood ran cold, but she forced herself not to let it show. She had no idea what was going on any longer. Was this a dream? Or….something else?

Quite casually Sithli bluffed, "I thought I'd drop in for a moment."

The other girl smirked. "You should be more careful. Who knows what might happen to your body while you're away from it."

"Is that a threat?" Menary smiled but said nothing in reply. "Where are you?"

"In Karanda."

Sithli was momentarily taken aback. She had not expected Menary to actually answer. The next question slipped out automatically on the heels of her surprise. "Why are you in Karanda?"

"Mmm, it's a secret." She pressed one finger to her lips. Her eyes were wicked. "Run and hide while you can _princess_. Your prophecy won't save you. You've had an easy time of it thus far while I focused on worldly matters, but now I have all the power I need at my fingertips. Just wait. I'll crush you and then feed everything you have to The Void."

"What's The Void?" But even as she asked the question, she felt her consciousness summoned away.

When next she blinked, she was opening her eyes to a pale blue sky, the mid morning heat, the smell of frying bacon, and Eridis insistently shaking her awake.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two: Troubled Waters

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART THREE: MALLOREA_

**Chapter Twenty Two: Troubled Waters  
**

By half past noon they the ship they' chartered in a coast town in Finda was well out of the harbor and on its way northwards, cutting through the waves on the western wind caught by the quartered sails. Across the below decks compartment from Sithli, Eridis sat with her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression unguessable behind the heavy veil she wore. Urgar had seen them settled down in the compartment and then had left without explanation a few minutes after the ship had departure from the harbor.

Sithli sat quietly, yielding to the steady sway of the ship. The compartment smelled of damp wood and managed somehow to be stuffy and cold at the same time. Despite it being mid day, the compartment was now well lit and the dimness was enough to make slumber easy for anyone. For Sithli, who'd been sleeping badly for weeks, it was nearly irresistible. Although she had too much to think about, it was impossible to concentrate. She blinked and wished the brim of her hat allowed her to lean into the corner.

The compartment door slid open and Urgar entered, casually carrying a heavy sword. Surprised, Eridis lifted her veil to take a long look at the weapon. "Urgar, what is that?"

"It's called a sword Eridis," Urgar replied with an amiably straight face. "You stab people with the pointy end."

"Very nice." The gentle girl said patiently. "Why do you have it?"

"In case there's trouble, naturally. After Sithli shared the contents of her far seeing dream with us, I've been just a bit more on edge lately."

"What's far seeing?" Sithli asked. Both her friends ignored her.

"I don't think a sword will be necessary," Eridis said. "Menary said she's in Karanda. What harm can she do us off the coast of Dalasia?"

"And you believe her?" Urgar asked.

"She has no reason to lie."

"She has every reason to lie. What she doesn't have is any reason to tell the truth." He sat down next to Sithli, propping the sword against the wall. "What I am willing to concede however, is that Sithli's dream might have been just that."

"I doubt it. I can hardly imagine her mind being such a strange place as to envision Menary decorating herself in Karanda of its own freewill."

"One time I dreamed I was being pursued by an oversized macaroon. I don't know why Sithli's mind should be considered a paragon of normalcy. Have you _talked_ to her?"

The Mallorean princess sat up a bit straighter in her seat. "You will kindly include me in this conversation."

Eridis ignored her again. "She is called The Dreaming Princess, according to the prophecy. Dismissing her dreams would be foolish in the extreme. Whether or not she's a head case…"

"Am I a parcel?" Sithli inquired to the compartment at large. "Am I a portmanteau? I will not be spoken of as if I'm not here."

"You seemed like you were dozing off." Urgar addressed her finally.

Sithli was still bristling. "Well I'm not anymore."

"Excellent. We were worried. You've been droopy and distracted since this morning."

Understanding seeped over Sithli and she pinned her friends with a dirty look. "So all that was for the benefit of inciting me to attention?"

"Not from the beginning," Urgar said with an apologetic air that surpassed mere boastfulness. "But the idea occurred mid way. If you're awake and alert now, I really would like to discuss precautionary measures against Menary Cacoelle."

"I wasn't being entirely facetious when I suggested that worry might be premature. She's leagues away."

Urgar was frowning. "I made the mistake of underestimating Menary once. I try to avoid making the same mistakes twice."

"Is it possible for sorcery to reach over a great distance?" Sithli asked.

"No." Eridis said, shaking her head. "Menary would have to travel near enough to see us to enact her magic."

"There have been instances of far reaching sorcery," Urgar corrected.

Eridis sighed softly. "In only extremely rare circumstances." Eridis said, turning to look at Sithli. "The former Murgo sorcerers have been able to perform these feats, however only on their own territory, and only with the use of the combined wills of at least twelve adepts, and the focal point of a very rare gem. I hardly think Menary has similar resources."

"What about Shadows?" Sithli asked.

"Shadows can only be sent out to spy," Eridis said. "The only person who's every been able to perform sorcery through their Shadow has been The Godslayer, King Belgarion of Riva and you can hardly compare Menary to _him_."

"No, I'd compare her more to something like Torak." Urgar rejoined.

"Now you're overreacting." Sithli suggested.

Urgar remained unconvinced. "We'll see."

* * *

As if Urgar's words were prophecy, Sithli was startled from sound sleep by a tremor which rocked the ship so severely that the cot on which she lay went skidding across the floor, slamming into the far wall. Sithli came into wakefulness with a blossom of pain in her left arm, tabled in the quilts that had slumped over to cover her head. She sat up, flinging everything off as another tremor shook the vessel. Belatedly she noticed the ship was rocking back and forth deeply and above her she heard the heavy and hasty thud of steps above deck.

Someone was knocking insistently and calling her name. Unsteady she stumbled over to the cabin door to jerk it open. Urgar stood on the other side, harried looking and rumpled.

"What's going on?" Sithli asked, stumbling as the ship shook again. Urgar caught and steadied her, inadvertently gripping the arm she'd slammed against the wall, which caused Sithli to wince in pain.

"I don't know," Urgar answered. "Is Eridis with you?"

"No." Surprised colored her tone, eyes widening. "She's not in her cabin?" Sithli felt a rush of apprehension when the Murgo prince shook his head gravely. Again the ship shuddered, like a dog shaking water from its coat. Urgar was still holding her upright and she stumbled against his chest.

"Let's get above decks," Urgar suggested. "I want to know what's going on."

Sithli agreed and they made their way up the ladder into the open sea are. It had to be almost morning, but the sky was so over cast and gray it looked like the middle of the night. Only the barest hint of the ruddy hint of the sun peeked through, but instead of illuminating anything, it only gave the steel gray clouds an unnatural menacing glow. Beneath the sky the ocean was so green so dark it nearly looked black and it churned angrily with brutal, rough waves that sent the ship careening back and forth. An intense went was blowing in from the east and it tore at the sails so fiercely that it made the wood quiver.

Across the deck the sailors were rushing in every direction, trying to hold the boat together. To her surprise Sithli saw Eridis standing by the railing. She was wearing her bed clothes and her veil was gone. Her gaze was focused out towards the sea and her hair whipped out behind her. Eridis did not even turn when Sithli and Urgar joined her.

"What's going on?" Sithli echoed her earlier question.

"There's something wrong." Eridis said. "There's something unnatural about this storm. Look there." She pointed towards the rolling waves.

At first Sithli thought that what Eridis was gesturing at was just a bit of drift wood or something that had falling off deck during the ship's violent rocking. But when she looked closely she realized that it was a dolphin, floating belly up and very much dead. And it wasn't the only one. Now that she was seriously looking, she could see several similar shapes of all sizes across the churning ocean.

"Eridis, are you alright?" The question came from Urgar and it spurred Sithli to turn and take a good look at her friend. Eridis' face was ashen and she was trembling slightly. Her eyes however were fierce an intent. At Urgar's inquiry, the gentle girl shook her head.

"I'm trying to keep the ship from upending by softening the waves as they make impact. Otherwise we'll be torn apart."

Sithli was startled. "You can do that?"

"Witchcraft is a natural magic. I have a certain amount of influence. It's taxing me, however. Particularly since I think there's something strange at work."

"Like what?" Sithli asked.

Before Eridis could answer, however, a huge water spout erupted several feet away from the ship. It shot high into the air, showering the vessel with water like heavy rain. All on deck turned to stare at it in awe. The spout did not die. Instead it seemed to thicken and solidify. Still more strangely the spout began to undulate like a dancer from Gar og Nadrak would. Before their eyes the spout began to take form, stretching and writhing as it adjusted to a reasonable facsimile of physical form.

The body curved, acquiring a pattern that looked almost like scale. Towards the top it narrowed forming something that looked like a cross between the head of a horse and that of a serpent, with pointed spiked running from the crown of its head down its back. Slowly the sea serpent opened its mouth, revealing massive barbed teeth the size of a man's leg.

And from that gaping mouth a voice intoned, "Die, Princess of Mallorea."

The voice sounds like the crack of waves and the shiver of timber, but Sithli knew to whom it belonged. It was Menary Cacoelle's voice, the proclaimed her death. A wave struck the boat hard, tipping to one side and flinging them all to the deck. Over head, the sea serpent stretched itself higher still and let out a blood curdling shriek.

"I realize," Urgar said from beside her as he stumbled to his feet, "that this would be a terrible time to say 'I told you so', but seeing as I might not get a later opportunity…"

The sea serpent had reared and now it launched it's massive head towards them, mouth agape as I to swallow hole the first thing it's teeth met. Eridis' eyes narrowed and she made a gesture with her hands. A rolling wave shot upwards a half a foot from the ship, just as the serpent's head neared it. Like a sharp blade, the wall of water struck through the creature's head, seeming to slice at it. The monster roared, pulling back a slender, headless neck and thrashing from side to side.

There was cheering from on deck, but the shouts quickly turned to ones of fear as the stump where the creature's head use to by started to bubble and pulse and then two more heads burst forth. Laughter like a rusted knife on stone echoed over the waves. Eridis' face turned white. Quick as lightening the creature dipped beneath the surface of the water, creating a new sheet of waves so intense that the tipped the boat upwards till it was completely on its side. Barrels, crates, boxes and men went sliding across deck and tumbled over the edge of the railing into the dark ocean waters.

Sithli's heart stopped for a moment as she felt herself falling and then all of the sudden her body went taunt and she felt her stomach connect with the wood of the deck. She looked upwards through the spray of sea water that coated her face and saw that Urgar had caught her about the waist with one arm, securing himself to the railing which his free hand. Bodily, he blocked Eridis from tumbling downwards into the bleak waters.

With a crash the ship rushed back down to settle against the waves again. At that same moment, the strong winds tore more violently at the sails and the wood began to seriously buckle. Terror washed over Sithli. They were going to die.

The voices that spoke seemed to issue from the darkness cast by the combined shade of the clouds and the eerie glow which the emitted by filtering the sunlight. The voices asked,

_How did you create the first snow?__  
How did you give The Thrice Prince back his true form?  
How did you discover to where Menary Cacoelle had fled?_

"That was a dream!" Sithli shouted over the noise of screams, cracking wood, and howling wind.

_Did we not tell you before?__  
That which is unnatural  
Might be shaped by your dreams._

It made no sense to her. She was wide awake? How could she possibly have dreams just then? She thought back to that time in Menary's bedroom at the university, when Urgar had lay bleeding on the floor in the form of a wounded cat. She thought about the calm darkness that had descended on her at that moment. And, as if remembering it were enough, she felt that same cool ease flow over her like a blanket. The sounds and sight of the trembling, doomed ship faded away and she felt her body relax slowly, as if sinking into a deep slumber.

In her doze-like state, she could see the monster out at sea as it emerged from it's submersion beneath the waves again. It seemed that she was absent of her body and that her consciousness could walk across waves and get closer to the sea serpent, tensing itself for another attack on the vulnerable vessel. As if it could see her the creature's head swiveled in her direction and its mouth opened in a toothy hiss. It trashed among the waves, and up close Sithli could see its body still frothing and running as if it were the ocean incased within transparent scale. She began to tear away at those scales.

The monster screamed, the sea water that formed its foundation rushing like blood from the places where she'd stripped away at its "scales". It tried to snap at her, but she was not truly there and it twisted and turned through the air uselessly. A scream of frustration issued forth from it, half human and half feral. The creature seemed to be crumbling from the inside now, weakening as she continued her dismantling attack.

Then, all around her, the water shot straight up. Sithli realized this wasn't her doing and turned to look back at the ship. Across the distance she could see Eridis on her feet again. Her friend's eyes were blazing, her hand stretched out across calmer seas. The water crashed down on the weakened serpent and dragged it under. Sithli too was pulled beneath the surface of the water by the tidal waves, plunging into the murky depths.

She did not seem to need to breath, but the encroaching darkness unnerved her and sent a bolt of panic through her awareness. And just as suddenly as that fear struck her, she felt her physical body twitch and she was swept away from the gloom.

When Sithli opened her eyes again she was flat on her back. There was a rushing in her ears and a painful pounding in her head. She found she was staring up into a blue morning sky and Urgar's inquiring face. When he saw her eyelashes lift he asked,

"Was that you?" Inclining his head out towards the now tranquil waters.

"The first bit," Sithli confessed.

He put a soothing hand on her forehead. His palm was cool, easing the headache that had formed. "Good job."

Sithli closed her eyes and her exhaustion rocked her gently into sleep.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three: Road To Mal Zeth

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART THREE: MALLOREA_

**Chapter Twenty Three: The Road To Mal Zeth**

When Sithli slept for the rest of that afternoon and through the evening. She woke the next morning feeling more refreshed than she'd been in several weeks. The same could not be said of everyone. The incident had taken a severe toll on the ship's crew and only a few men remained to repair the damage done to the vessel. The sails were lost to repair and so, in their place, the crewmen were forced to unearth several huge ores. The sound of their counting as they rowed could be heard all across the ship's deck. Eridis was another who had been seriously taxed. Her manipulation of the sea waters had drained her severely and she'd retired to her compartment where she only rarely came out of her sleep to weakly take noontime or evening meals.

On the third day since the encounter with the sea monster, Sithli emerged from Eridis' cabin, carrying the tray that she'd brought her friend's dinner in on. She returned to tray to the kitchens and then went to join Urgar in his compartment.

"She's asleep again." Sithli told the Murgo prince, taking a seat in the chair Urgar had left empty for her.

"How long can we let her rest?" Urgar asked. "We're going to have to leave the ship once it gets into harbor, aren't we."

"Unless we want to go farther up the coastline? Yes."

"To be honest," Urgar said, "I don't think the ship will be going anywhere else once we pull into port. The sailors were completely unnerved by that attack. I'm fairly certain that as soon as we see land the whole of them are doing to debark and not set foot on another boat for as long as they live."

"I don't blame them. I'm not looking forward to it again either."

"There's another problem as well," Urgar went on.

"Of course there is." Sithli sighed heavily. "Alright, let's have it."

"Among the cargo that went overboard, some of our horses were among it."

Sithli grimaced. "How many do we have left?"

"Oh…one."

"One!" Sithli exclaimed. "How are we going to get to Mal Zeth on one horse? Do we have enough money to buy new ones at Mal Gemla?"

"No. We may have enough to buy a small carriage to hitch to the one remaining mount, if we haggle well enough. Very small. It will mean we'll have to abandon much of our baggage."

Sithli sighed. "I don't suppose we have a choice, do we?"

* * *

Eridis did not care for the change in plan. But by the time she had recovered enough to take an interest in what was going on around her, there was little time left to remonstrate. Instead, she followed Sithli's lead, packing the minimum of clothing into a small bag, and preparing to let the rest of her luggage go on without her.

"My new brocade dressing gown—I can't possibly leave that."

Sithli, who had finished her repacking long since, said, not for the first time, "Pack it in your big case, lock it up, make sure the label is firmly affixed, and leave it. They'll ship it on with the rest of our things. It will be _fine_."

"My linen walking dress—I might need that—" Eridis managed to fold the dress and fit it, with the rest of her necessities, into her smallest valise. "Now it won't shut."

"Pack it with the rest."

"Now it won't come out."

Sithli extricated the crumpled walking dress from the jaws of the valise. Eridis, who was normally so calm and accommodating, had been less so about the notification that they would be abandoning most of their belongings. Sithli had reasoned that it stemmed from Eridis' sense of propriety and her monumental concern about decorum and suitability. Sithli had noticed the much of propriety was based on appearance and style. That she might be without the proper tools clearly upset the usually tranquil girl.

"Why don't you wait in my compartment while I finish for you?" Sithli suggested. "It won't take me long."

"You know you can't fold things properly. Everything will be crushed."

"When you eventually unpack, won't you have it all cleaned anyway?"

"Oh dear. I suppose so." Distressed, Eridis surveyed the untidy compartment. "It's too ghastly. I can't even let you finish for me. I'll have to do it myself."

Sithli steered her out of the compartment. "Here's Urgar. Make him fetch you some tea or something. I'll finish."

Urgar craned his neck to see the disarray. "Are you _still_ at it?"

For answer, Sithli shut the cabin door.

At daybreak two day later the ship made it's way into the port at Mar Gemla. With speed, stealth, and the very minimum of baggage, Sithli, Urgar, and Eridis left the vessel. They waited for an hour at the chilly inn near the harbor. Then, under Urgar's direction, they took seats in the small brougham that Urgar had procured and hitched to their single remaining mount. By the time the sun was well up, they were lurching along to road towards Mal Zeth.

After being on the ship, Sithli found the brougham excruciatingly slow. Sithli spent the time in light conversation with Eridis, gazing out the window at the passing scenery, or dozing lightly. At half past sundown several days later, Sithli woke from a fitful sleep to find Eridis frowning at her. Despite their privacy, Eridis still wore her veil down and it only made her frown more alarming. Sithli looked around, blinking.

"Is something the matter? Are you feeling unwell again?"

"Yes. And is it any wonder? This road is a disgrace. Any moment now, my neck will be snapped from my shoulders. How can you possibly sleep?"

Sithli yawned. "I was just resting my eyes." She looked out the window. "Dark already? At least the sky cleared. Where are we?"

"I neither know nor care. One pine forest looks very like another. Did you know the roads would be like this?"

"Mm, no. But then, I took a different route when I left home for university. And it was quite some time ago." Sithli glance across at her friend. "You want your tea, don't you?"

"There's no chance of tea until we reach Mal Zeth—and don't say anything bracing about a hearty meal and a good night's sleep, because I won't be braced. I am miserable and if you weren't so bucked about going home, you'd be miserable, too."

"It's really not much worse than the ship was." Sithli defended. "At least we don't have to worry about sinking."

Eridis frowned deeply and lapsed into what Sithli thought was a sullen silence. However, after a moment, the diminutive girl asked, "What happened? On the ship, I mean."

"What do you mean, what happened? You were there."

"I mean what did you do?" Eridis elaborated. "This is the second time, possibly the third or fourth from everything I've heard, that you've done this…Dreaming. Don't you think you should figure out exactly how it works?"

Sithli shrugged slightly. "To be honest, I didn't really think about. _You're_ the magic user. And Menary. I didn't want any sort of power. I was one of the most adamant skeptics at the university. Submitting to irony leaves a bitter taste in my mouth."

Eridis rolled her eyes elaborately. "All the same, you do have _some_ kind of power. Not bothering to learn about it is irresponsible and reckless in the extreme." Her friend sounded so much like one of the Melcene tutors that a smile of amusement started to tug at the corner of Sithli's mouth. Eridis saw the edgings of mirth and immediately caught on to the princess' train of thought. "Oh stop that."

"Yes Dame Eridis." Sithli teased, leaning against the window. "Alright then. How do you suggest I go about me tutelage, when I don't have a teacher."

"You've done it multiple times already." Eridis said. "We just have to deduce how. So, as I asked, _what happened_?"

Sithli pursed her lips and thought back to the incident: The ship as it tilted dangerously, close to capsizing, being narrowly saved from tumbling into the frothy waves by Urgar, and of her sudden despairing conviction that they were going to die. "I was laying on the deck thinking about what was going to happen if we didn't stop that…sea creature somehow. Then I heard those voices, the shadow ones, reminding me of how I saved Urgar and the first snow. After that I started feeling hazy…sort of. Relaxed. Almost like fainting or sleeping. And then the next thing I know it's like I wasn't in my body anymore."

Eridis had leaned forward. "What do you mean, you weren't in your body?"

The Mallorean princess shook her head. "I don't know how to explain it any better than that. It was like stepping out of a heavy dress, only instead of a dress it was…me. Or the physical me anyway. And then I was walking across the water. When I got close enough to that thing, I kind of saw how it was held together, so I started pulling it apart. Then you were there and you dragged it under with the sea waters. You took me down with it as well, now that I'm recalling."

"Did I? Oh dear. I do apologize." Eridis said sincerely.

Sithli waved that away with a hand. "For a second it felt like drowning and then I was suddenly back in my body again."

"I see." Eridis' lips were pursed thoughtfully. Sithli remembered that expression from the long days they'd spent pouring over texts trying to decode The Sudden Prophecy. "And what about that time with Urgar in Menary's room?"

"It was…similar. I was watching him bleed and realizing that he was going to die and then those shadows came in and told me I had to give him back his form. And then it was like everything around me went dim and stopped existing. I saw Urgar lying there as a cat and sort of just imagined him turning back to normal."

"Again, the shadows." Eridis said, tapping her fingers on the arm of the seat. "Are they triggering it? Have you ever done anything without seeing or hearing them?"

Sithli frowned trying to think. "The…first snow? They said that was my doing. But I didn't even…I mean I wasn't _trying _to do anything then. I thought it was just a coincidence."

"Tell me about it." Eridis urged.

"It was nothing singular. It happened just after my audience with the Dean, when I found out about Menary's accusations against me. I took a detour through the cloister gardens and started thinking about home. Winter hits sooner in Mal Zeth than in Melcena. I was daydreaming about the chilly hills and the icy winds and the snowfall and when I focused again it had started snowing."

Eridis had sat back again and she had a look of deep contemplation on her face. "I see. It sounds like your powers are directly related to a lapse in consciousness and awareness of physical space."

"Please Eridis," Sithli said in a choked voice. "Now you're _really_ starting to sound like the tutors. In clearer terms?"

"Sorry. Let me see if I can explain it better," she drummed her fingers against her bottom lip for a long moment and then suddenly snapped her fingers. "Alright! Do you remember when we had that lecture on northern diviners?"

"Vaguely."

"Well, in order to _see_ the diviners had to put themselves in sort of a trance. I believe what you do is something similar. Those shadows called your power_ Dreaming_. I think that's because you have to enter a sleep like state in order to access it. By doing so, it's almost like you're able to access and alternate plane, possibly even the same one that magic like mine and Menary's functions on, and exert and influence of your own. Did that make any sense?"

"Mostly." Sithli told her, processing this. "The shadows told me something, that night before we left the university. They said I had to be careful because my body was vulnerable when I was _Dreaming_."

Eridis nodded. "Mm, that would make sense. Since your consciousness separates from your body, you don't have any physical awareness. Someone could come along and stick a sword through your physical body and you wouldn't be able to defend yourself."

That idea chilled Sithli. Her family had long been a target of assassination attempts. The idea that someone might put a knife in her heart with her none the wiser was a frightening one. She pushed it aside and decided to focus on the matter immediately at hand. Eridis was right. It was best if she figured this out. She'd gotten lucky the last two times, but lucky was too fickle to be relied on exclusively.

"They also said that my dreams were to shape the unnatural. What do you think that means?"

"Oh, let me think." Eridis massaged her temples, looking bothered. "This would be much easier if it weren't for this ghastly headache."

"As soon as we arrive in Mal Zeth, I'll order a tisane for you." Sithli assured.

"A tisane?" Eridis muttered. "Wine, at least. Brandy, would be better."

The brougham gave a violent lurch, followed by a crash. After a stunned moment, Sithli untangled herself from Eridis. The coach had stopped. As Sithli put her hand on the door, it opened with an edge of chill air.

Just visible in the starlight, Urgar, hatless and holding his slender sword, asked, "Are you hurt?"

"Not I," said Sithli. "Eridis?"

"Brandy would be far better." Eridis sounded very cross. "I'm fine." She picked herself up carefully off the floor. Indignant, she added, "I'm covered in _straw_."

"What happened?" asked Sithli.

"There's a tree down across our track. I was thrown off the box. I think we've broken a wheel. I have to go see to the horse. Stay where you are."

Sithli started to clamber out the door. "We'll help. I can hold the horse."

Urgar didn't move. "It isn't necessary. Stay in the coach, your imperial highness."

She stared at him for a long moment and then, slowly, Sithli took her seat again. The door closed again and then Urgar was gone.

Surprised, Eridis stopped brushing her skirts. "What's the matter with you two? Of course we ought to help. We may be here all night as it is."

"This area can be rather uncivilized." Sithli frowned. "These forests are renowned for the cutthroats who live here."

"Oh."

It was still evening. Overhead the stars seemed huge, burning ice-cold and blue-white in the faultless sky. There was no wind to trouble the pines. The horse was quieted. The carriage lamps were lit. They hardly flickered as Urgar set to work mending the broken wheel by their light.

"That's a very large pine tree," Eridis observed, her voice touched with gloom. "I don't think we could possibly move it."

"I doubt we can. How's your headache now? Could you use witchcraft on the tree, do you think?"

Eridis sounded dubious. "Perhaps I can."

"If you can't, we'll have to turn the couch around and go back."

"Oh, dear. Back _where_?"

"Wherever we got food last."

"There was a cow byre. We can't possibly sleep there."

"I don't recommend sleeping anywhere but the coach, to tell you the truth. Insects."

Eridis took hold of her sleeve. "Hush. Look!"

Sithli looked. Outside, Urgar was already looking. From the darkness near the fallen pine, a light shone, small and golden as a firefly.

"Hello," a man's voice called out of the darkness. "Having a little trouble?" The light moved in a quick arc and returned to its place. The speaker came closer. He was a slender man, with a pair of knife belts slung across his chest. The brim of his slouch hat concealed his face. The light was his cigar. He exhaled slowly as he regarded Urgar. "Looks as if you could use some help."

"We'll manage, thanks all the same," said Urgar cheerfully.

"Oh?" The man studied the fallen pine. "It appears to me you need to move that tree." His voice sounded young and thoughtful. "If you give me two hundred gold coins, I'll clear the road for you."

"All alone?" Urgar asked.

The man dropped his cigar and ground out the little light. In the next few seconds, thirty matches flared as thirty men lit cigars in the darkness around the couch. "Not at all. Better make that five hundred coins."

Urgar made no answer.

In the coach, Eridis put back her veil. "I've still got the headache, but it shouldn't take much to frighten off a few bandits."

"No, wait a moment-" In Sithli's memories, the recollection of summers long past was stirring.

"Seven hundred coins," the man said.

Sithli listened intently. "I know that voice."

"While we wait, the price is going up. Who knows what Urgar will decide to do?"

"One thousand coins is less than a hundred pounds sterling. And Urgar is just what I'm worried about. I know that young man." Sithli climbed out of the coach. Eridis sighed, put her veil back and followed.

"One thousand coins."

"Done," called Sithli.

Urgar turned an aggrieved face to her as she joined him in the circle of light. He didn't say anything, but his annoyed expression was eloquent.

"Who is that?" asked the young man, after a startled pause.

"I'll pay you a thousand coins to help us on our way," Sithli continued, "but first tell me what brings the Goodman Warin down from Mal Zeth and over the border to rob honest travelers."

"Who dares call me a robber?" The young man took a step forward and stared at her. "Speak."

"I do," said Sithli, just as Urgar muttered, "I can think of a few other things I'd like to call you."

The young man squinted at her in disbelief. "That's never…_Princess Sithli_?"

"Well met, Warin."

Warin advanced three steps to meet her, before Urgar barred his way. Warin stopped and held up his hand to steady his watchful men. "Your pardon, your imperial highness. I never dreamed we would trouble you."

Sithli came to Urgar's side. "Granted, if you explain these amateur theatricals."

Warin regarded her with wonder. "How long has it been? You're decked out so shabbily, it's a miracle I even recognized that long hair of yours. Have you come home to stay?"

"First tell me about your charade here."

Warin cleared his throat. "Yes. Well." He fidgeted for a moment, then met Sithli's gaze squarely. "It's the taxes you see. Recently there's been increased agitations from the eastern regions who still worship Torak. Not to mention the continuing tensions in Karanda. The taxes have been raised to support the military."

Sithli's heart stuttered in her chest. "The Dragon Cult?"

The man nodded gravely. "It seems like they've gotten larger. There's a new priest going around preaching and inflaming people. Saying this is a test of faith and those who fail will go screaming into the fires when Torak returns again."

The princess drew a deep breath. "Alright. I can't pay you now, but I can write you a letter of credit once I reach Mal Zeth. Shift that pine and let my coach be on its way."

"Hold up, boys. Don't move it just yet." Warin shook his head. "I can't recommend that, your imperial highness." As she bristled, he held up his hands. "Now, don't blaze away at me. We aren't the first people around here to raise a little capital, remember? In that coach on the road, if you go another ten miles you may well encounter professional thieves. You won't like them. They aren't as well brought up as we are." With great care and infinite smugness, Warin made three perfect smoke rings.

"Is there a better road?" Sithli demanded.

Warin admired the last smoke ring. When it was gone, he said thoughtful, "Not for a coach. But for riders in a hurry—"

"We're in a hurry."

"But can you ride?" Warin eyed her companions. "Can the—older lady?"

"We can ride." Eridis replied.

Surprised by the youthful timbre in her voice, Warin gave her a searching look. "In such costume?" he asked politely.

"We need four horses," said Sithli. "My chaperone and I require riding clothes—nothing elaborate. Can provide these things? And a guide?"

Warin looked pleased. "I think I can supply you with what you ask. Of course, the use of the horses, the clothing, the guide, and the armed escort—for I could not in honor allow you to risk meeting any of the local hedge-robbers—I think these things may command a small fee."

Sithli smiled. "Then shall we say a thousand gold coins, Warin?"

"Done." He smiled and made another smoke ring.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four: The Shining City

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART THREE: MALLOREA_

**Chapter Twenty Four: The Shining City  
**

Sithli woke in the guest chamber in the lower quarters of the city a week later. It took no time to remember where she was and why she was here, because every muscle in her body conspired to remind her. Scholastic life, she reflected, was as harmful o the body as it was beneficial to the mind. She felt, after only seven nights and six mornings in the saddle, as though she had been beaten with sticks for a thousand years. Well, five hundred, perhaps. Plainly, she had been away from Mallorea for too long. She stretched, groaned softly, and with some foreboding, remembered Eridis.

Eridis had been cross about wear the baggy, men's clothing that that Warin's men had provided to replace their own clothes, inappropriate for riding. Eridis had been testy before she was cross, before the pine tree, indeed, ever since they had left the ship. After a long slow ride at night, a long fast ride in the morning, another hard going evening, and then a drafty night spent in their lodgings, surely Eridis would be beyond cross, beyond testy, beyond reason. Sithli winced. This was not the hospitality she had meant to offer her friends in Mallorea.

Sithli closed her eyes. The ride through the pine forest had been terrible. The darkness, the need for silence, and the necessity of speed, lest the local brigands find them, made the journey seem endless. Sithli had found her discomfort compounded by a private, irrational fear that she still had pursuers. Urgar and Eridis' talk about Shadows had had her convinced that every shade under every tree was an agent of Menary's, poised for attack. Even the smallest shifting in the gloom made her tense and nervous. In the dark, on horseback, in a hurry, calm had been beyond her.

At dusk, when the clouds across the eastern sky were brindled with rose, they had come up the high hill that loomed over the deep valley that the shiny city of Mal Zeth filled to overflowing. In the fading light, the city glowed like gem, massive and magnificent. Sithli felt a rush of joy at the sight, a sense of longing and homesickness that she thought had faded after her first few months at the university. She was home.

"Welcome back to Mal Zeth, your imperial highness." Warin had dismounted and he bowed to her respectfully.

Sithli turned to look down at his dark, untidy head. She smiled at him, inkling her head regally. She felt a bubble of pride settled in her chest. In the mood to be just a bit pompous, she turned to look at Urgar, who had pulled his horse up to join her on the left.

"What do you think of Mal Zeth, your highness?" She inquired, cheekily.

Urgar had been staring down at the city, without expression. When she posed her question he turned her with a thoughtful look and then, quite casually, shrugged. "I've seen bigger." And then he laughed at her shocked and offended expression and, quite wisely, danced his horse out of reach.

Despite the downwards terrain and the lingering exhaustion, the ride down towards the city had been wonderful. The weather was mild and the nigh was brisk, but not too chilly. Sithli found it impossible to worry about brigands or sorcery or Menary. Weariness left her little leisure to think of anything but the ground before her and the horse beneath her. All her attention was taken up by the effort it took to stay close on Warin's heels as he rode home.

The stretch of land was just as she remembered it, closely grazed pastures rising into heights patched with heather, broom, and bracken. From time to time their route took them across brooks stained brown with peat, running steeply down from the heights like narrow flights of stairs. The walls of the city of Mal Zeth stopped everything to welcome them home. Dogs barked, chickens scattered, the late evening streets quite but still populated. They entered through the south, into the lower district of the city and Warin let them through the neat, orderly streets to his residence. As they neared, a dark haired girl in a brown dress, her cheeks pink with relief and excitement, ran out of he house shouting Warin's name. Warin swung down from the saddle and gathered the girl into his arms.

"Here Elana," Warin said to the girl as he turned, his arm around her shoulders, "I've brought you company for breakfast." He grinned at Sithli. "Your imperial highness, may I present my wife, Elana." His arm tightened very gently. "The imperial princess of Mallorea has come home again."

Elana regarded Sithli with wide brown eye. "I beg your pardon, your imperial highness," she said after a startled hesitation, bowing low. "Welcome home," she said, glancing uncertainly into her husband's smiling face, and then back up at Sithli. "Will your highness join us for a late supper? It's only stew, though," she added apologetically.

"Thank you," Sithli said, smiling. "I'd rather have stew in Mal Zeth than truffles in Melcene."

Elana beamed and stepped out of the circle of her husbands arm to show them the way indoors. Sithli introduced her companions. When the introductions were finished, they crossed the threshold into the house. As they entered, Sithli heard Eridis's soft reproachful voice at her elbow.

"Easy for you to foreswear them. You've never eaten truffles in Melcene. I have."

* * *

As the morning broke, bright and clear Sithli got up, washed, and dressed. In addition to he clothes he'd sold her in the forest, Warin had rummaged industriously for Sithli in the city. With help from Elana he'd managed to find her a gown, maroon in color, with a silver belt stitched into the waist. Sithli donned it and slipped her feet into a pair of low riding boots that had been loaned to her. She'd had the leisurely opportunity to wash her hair the previous night and had been so tired she'd gone to bed without toweling it dry. The brown mass, with its strands of snowy white was wavy in places and flat in others from being slept on. She gathered it all up and wove it into a neat braid and then opened the door.

Outside the guest bedchamber, the corridor was empty. Literally. I was devoid of portraits, no carpets, and no furniture. It served only to connect the rooms. More than the pale light of morning, the silence of the house told Sithli how early I was. Moving as softly as she could in borrowed boots, she crossed the corridor and listened at the door directly opposite. She could just hear Eridis humming. It was difficult to be certain through oak. Sithli scratched at the door.

Eridis, flawlessly groomed in her borrowed clothing, resplendent in well worn boots that reached her knees and folded rakishly down again, let Sithli into her chamber. "I was so hoping you were the early morning tea."

"As a rule, we don't do early morning tea in Mal Zeth," Sithli said regretfully. "If you life, I'll send for a tray. How is your headache?"

"Quite gone, thanks to Elena's home remedies. No need to send for tea. I'll wait for breakfast."

Sithli took the chair near the window and looked out into the yard. Below the housemaids were just starting to emerge. The day's work was just beginning. "I just came in to apologize."

Eridis looked astonished. "Whatever for?"

"For the diligence," Sithli answered, eyes still lowered. "For making you leave your luggage. For the pine tree. For making you ride through the forest in the dark-"

"In a fancy dress," Eridis added cheerfully. "For soaking my feet in the icy river. For stew at dinner and…crepes I believe for breakfast. For letting Elena cure my headache with barberry tea—your point is taken. Very well. I accept your apology. You are a truly ghastly friend."

Sithli regarded Eridis with wonder. "What happened to you? In the diligence you were as cross as two sticks. Two _hundred_ sticks."

"My turn to apologize. I was a bit cross in the diligence, I admit. Traveling light doesn't agree with me. I'm actually extremely spoiled. Probably even more so than you and Urgar combined."

"I can hardly believe that. And I accept your apology."

"Are we going to the palace today?"

"It would be terribly rude of me not to, I suppose." Sithli replied. "Since we did come all this way."

"Don't be silly, Sithli. Did you send word already?"

"No. I thought I wouldn't send word. I also cautioned Warin to be a bit secretive about my arrival." Sithli smiled wickedly. "I thought I'd surprise my father. I've been away for a while and so I'm sure it's been some time since he had a good surprise."

"Oh, dear." Eridis said worriedly. "You don't think our news will be more than shocking enough already?"

"I like to utilize _all_ my resources to keep my father on his toes."

It was late afternoon when Sithli led her companions out the sector of the city and up through the streets towards the Imperial Palace. Eridis and Urgar rode on either side of her. Eridis looked more composed and calm than she had in almost two weeks, and Urgar road with almost negligent causality on her opposite side. Sithli wished she had had opportunity to speak with him that morning, but he'd risen late and then had devoted his time to helping Warin make preparations. Regardless of the relative peace that now existed between Cthol Murgos and Mallorea and of her own close friendship with the crown prince, Sithli was still concerned about how her father would react to Urgar's presence. The Emperor of Mallorea was almost as mulishly stubborn as his daughter. Almost.

As they approached the gilded gates of the palace, their way was bared the imperial guard.

"Your identity?" One of the men demanded briskly. Sithli nudged her horse forward and pushed back her hood. She lifted her chin, her expression her most imperious as she looked down at the guards who, recognizing her hair, had dropped down to bow. "Our apologies, your imperial highness. We did not recognize you."

"It's alright captain. Where is my father?" Her tone was lofty and expectant. From the corner of her eye she saw Urgar arch one ink black eyebrow.

"I…am not sure, your imperial highness," he said very politely. "I will inquire."

"Do so. If he is not otherwise engaged, please ask him to attend me in the library."

As if he did not trust his own ears, the man watched motionless as Sithli swept past him through the gates with were creaking open to let her part past. Without hesitation Eridis and Urgar followed her, neither sparing a glance at him. Warin was not so hasty. He paused on the threshold, looked back at him and the rest of the speechless guard, and smiled broadly.

"You'd better find the banner and send someone to run it up," he advised. "The imperial princess of Mallorea is in residence."

* * *

Sithli led her companions through the great hall, where the armory of weapons that lined the walls was enduring an inventory, and incidental dusting, under the supervision of a stoop-shouldered, scholarly looking man. High time the collection was catalogues. She ducked into the passage that led to the picture gallery. After Warin's residence it seemed almost cluttered, with chairs and tables spaced at intervals along the walls, beneath the gilt-framed family portraits. Sithli was halfway down the long gallery before she could believe she was really home. It all seemed alien at first—the ceilings were high, but not as high as she remembered. The light was different, and slanted through the massive windows.

There was a new old carpet in the library. Sithli paused just inside the door to stare at the unfamiliar rug. It was magnificently large and of high quality. Faded by time into a subtle trellis of scarlet and indigo, the intricate pattern of the rug diminished its apparent size. As she bent to remove her boots to avoid tracking mud across the carpet, she saw a figure rise from one of the chairs near the hearth.

It was a woman, no longer a youth, but still very beautiful. Her face was pale and unlined, her eyes large and serene. She wore a wide sleeved gown of pale ivory and her soft brown hair was arranged in a coronet woven with delicate flowers and set around a small golden crown. At the sight of them, the woman smiled and it was like the sun coming up.

"Welcome home, Sithli." Before she even realized she moved, Sithli had crossed the rug to embrace her mother. Cyradis enveloped her in her lavender scented arms and hugged her close. "You have been greatly missed, my daughter. You should have sent word of your coming."

"I wanted to surprise father." Sithli confessed, pulling back from the embrace so she could look up into the Empress of Mallorea's seraphic face. "Is he well?"

"He is ever straining himself to his limit. But his strength is as it always is." The empress stroked a hand over Sithli's hair. She looked up past her daughter. "Who are your friends?"

Sithli had almost forgotten about Urgar and Eridis. Guilty about her slack hospitality she turned o regard her companions. Urgar stood straight, and expression of polite patience on his composed face. Eridis had crossed to the other side of the room and was curiously scrutinizing the carpet.

"They are my schoolmates from the university. I think it would be more economic to save the formal introductions until father arrives."

"Your father was meeting with his generals earlier this afternoon," Cyradis revealed.

Sithli frowned. "Is the war going badly?"

"The Dragon Cult no longer claims such a momentous hold on the eastern continent. That threat has been largely repealed. What is of concern now is Karanda."

"The last time I saw Eriond he said the same. But that was ages ago. Is it still not resolved?"

Cyradis shook her head. "For a time, it seemed things had quelled in The Seven Kingdoms. But, of late, the disrest has amplified greatly. Until the situation in the region can be suitably assessed, mobilization has come to a halt." Cyradis' look became inquiring when she saw the glance that passed between her daughter and her companions. "It seemeth to me, daughter, that you've come with important news."

Sithli nodded gravely. "I have."

Cyradis looked into her daughter's face for a moment, expression serious. Then she stepped over and gave a tug on a thick, corded rope. Almost immediately a servant entered, bowing low. "Wouldst thou inform my husband our daughter has arrived? And moreso that he must attend us here with the greatest haste." The servant nodded and exited another appearing on the tail of her withdrawal, pushing a heavily laden tea cart. "Will you Sithli and your companions join me?"

"Yes, please." Sithli said. She glanced over at her friends. "Urgar? Eridis? …Eridis what _are _you doing?" Sithli added when she realized her friend was still studying the library carpet.

"There's something very curious about this carpet." Eridis said.

"Magic?" Urgar wondered.

"Mmm. Not quite magic…but there's something here that's very faint. I can't even be certain it _is_ the carpet. It could easily be something else."

"What do you mean?" Sithli asked.

"It changes. Sometimes the patterns look geometric. Sometimes it looks like a garden or a forest."

"How does it look now?" Urgar asked.

"Stair steps. Neat rows of those lozenges hat are supposed to look like elephant footprints, only the lozenges are bordered with stair steps."

Sithli looked relieved. "That's how it looks to me. Do you see it change? Does it move?"

"No. I look away, and sometimes when I look back, it's changed. That's all."

The imperial princess turned to look at her mother, who was quietly scrutinizing her daughter and her friends. "The carpet is new, isn't it?"

Cyradis nodded mysteriously. "Yes. It was a gift."

"From who?"

But before Cyradis had opportunity to answer, the door to the library opened and Emperor Zakath of Mallorea joined him. He was a lean man, aged with deep crevices in his stern, unyielding face. His hair was almost entirely white, peppered here and there with black. "I scarcely believed my ears when they told me." His voice was smooth and very deep, as though it belonged to a much larger man. "Welcome home, Sithli. Has the semester ended already?"

If Sithli was upset that her father didn't seem bowled over with shock and elation that she was home early, it didn't show on her face. In fact, she smiled mercurially at him. "In general? No. For me? Quite emphatically. I've been expelled." She announced with wicked delight.

"I'm shocked." Zakath said, although he looked no such thing. "I was sure that you would have gotten yourself expelled much earlier in your academic career."

"Well, I don't like to be too predictable," Sithli said casually.

The emperor's eyebrow lifted. "I see your time at the university hasn't rubbed off _that_ part of you."

"If anything, it's probably made it worse." Urgar suggested in a mild voice, amusement in his expression as he observed the exchange between the Mallorean emperor and his willful daughter.

Zakath's attention shifted to Eridis and Urgar, as if noticing them for the first time. "Your companions, Sithli?"

"My friends from the university." She said. "Now that you're here, father, I can make proper introduction. My dear friends please allow me to present my imperial father and mother, Emperor Zakath of Mallorea and his wife Empress Cyradis, formerly the Seeress of Kell, if your remember our history lessons. Mother, father, may I introduce Dame Eridis of Dal Zerba, a witch of the Melcene University," she said, indicating Eridis. The gentle girl curtsied gracefully.

"A witch?" Zakath repeated, inquisitively.

"Her imperial highness exaggerates your majesty." Eridis replied politely. "I haven't obtained a finishing degree from the university so I'm not _officially_ certified at the moment."

"I was not aware they taught witchcraft at the university."

"We are very discreet about it."

"Hm." Zakath turned to look at Urgar. "And this?"

Sithli watched her father closely. "This is His Highness, Crown Prince Urgar, heir to the throne of Cthol Murgos." And the in a much less formal tone, she added. "Behave yourself, father."

Her father's expression didn't change, but his face did become extremely stony as he watched the crown prince bow cordially. "That would mean you are Urgit's son," he confirmed.

"So my mother tells me," Urgar replied as he straightened, with shocking causality. "I'm inclined to believe her, as we share a quite prominent feature." And he tapped one long finger against his nose.

"I'm surprised you came here. The thrones of Cthol Murgos and Mallorea have not always been exactly friendly."

"Oh, it wasn't my idea. Her Imperial Highness dragged me here, kicking and screaming the entire way."

Oddly, the expression on Zakath's face was no long quite as chilly. Instead, he looked almost interested. "You seem to have more backbone than your father."

Even Cyradis looked at her husband in surprise at _that_ bit of rudeness. Sithli's mouth actually fell open a bit. Urgar, however, appeared unperturbed. In fact, he bowed with a bit of a flourish.

"Why thank you, your majesty." He straightened. "I would be most appreciative if you wouldn't tell anyone, however. It's a state secret. I should inform you that I sent word to my father. We've brought rather important news and I believe he will need to be notified of it as well. He should be arriving soon after my letter reaches him."

"And you think he'll come?"

"I greatly exaggerated my mortal peril. So I certainly hope so. Otherwise my sense of self esteem will be truly damaged."

Sithli was not sure what to make of this exchange between the Murgo prince and her father. Whether they were actually getting along or on the verge of exchanging blows was beyond her. Neither of them looked tense for the fight however, but she still wasn't willing to bet her money on continued cordiality. Luckily, however, the tense conversation broke when the emperor turned away from the prince to look at her.

"What is this, urgent news?"

The Mallorean princess drew herself up. Eridis stepped forward, handing her the red leather bound book, which Sithli then extended to her father. "You had better make arrangements for a long voyage, father. We have to go to Riva. Immediately."


	25. Chapter Twenty Five: On Towards the West

**THE ****REQUIEM: ****THE ****WORLD ****IN ****A ****DOWNWARD ****TILT  
**_PART __THREE: __MALLOREA_

**Chapter Twenty Five: On Towards The West**

"Is it changing again?" Sithli asked watching from behind her writing desk as Eridis paced yet again across the carpet, her eyes trained on the weave.

"It is. It's a very queer carpet. I can't figure out how it's doing it. Or who. Or if it's doing it all on its own." Eridis' face tightened then loosened again and she pressed her fingers to her temples in consternation.

"You should sit down." Sithli suggested. "There's no use in worrying over it. Come tomorrow, a carpet will be the least of our problems."

"Oh, that's true isn't it." She sank down into one of the deep burgundy chairs, tearing her eyes with visible effort away from the floor. "To be honest, I'm startled at how well your parents took the pronouncement."

"What's to be troubled over? A skirmish, a prophecy, a bit of expulsion, two shadowy figures—considering my family history it's practically par for the course."

"And according to your family history, the course was suppose to have ended before we were even born," Eridis pointed out. Her eyes flickered around the study. "Where has Urgar gone off to this afternoon?"

Sithli's lips quirked in a small smile. "Worried for our dear friend wandering around a Mallorean palace while being a Murgo?"

"I couldn't possibly be more worried than Urgar himself."

"You'd be surprised. Actually, he and father are getting along shockingly well." She couldn't stifle the laugh provoked by Eridis' long, disbelieving stare. "I know. I could barely fathom it myself. He's been placing himself underfoot throwing his urbanity around and charming _everyone_."

"Urgar is very good with the charm. When he wants to be."

Sithli smiled again but said nothing in reply. Silently, however, she realized that Eridis was right. Although Urgar could easily be the most irritating person among her retinue of friends, he could turn on his charisma at the drop of a hat. With the exception of a few of the proctors that he'd flouted and their close companions' occasional complaints about his flippancy, Sithli had never actually heard anyone utter a single bad word about their Murgo friend. For the first time, Sithli paused to wonder just how much of Urgar's casual charm was his real face and how much was deceit. How much of his tendency to be exasperatingly difficult was his real face? Abruptly, she remembered that period when she'd been absorbed and irritated by her unsuccessful research of _the__flaming__drake_ and Urgar's provocation of her, that caused her to ignore him for several days after. It was just after then that he went missing, supposedly while investigating Menary himself. She got the sudden suspicion that he'd deliberately irritated her, to get her to shun him exactly as she had. The more she thought about it, the more positive she became of the theory.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, the study door opened and the Murgo prince strode in. Someone had lent him fresh clothes, or he had purchased them during the last few days, and he was smartly dressed in Mallorean attire, a sash across his chest indicating his rank. His hair, so dark as to be practically blue, had been freshly washed and was still slightly damp. It had been brushed back and the style emphasized the sheer geometric nature of his face. His angular amber brown eyes, his long narrow nose, his pointed chin.

He was buttoning his cuffs as he entered, clearly having come straight to find them after getting dressed. "You'll want to come down to the throne room, I imagine. I was just-why is Sithli glowering at me like that?"

"You're a sneaky fellow, aren't you Urgar," Sithli accused, still caught up in her theory about his deliberate tossing of himself from her good graces for his own purposes.

Urgar looked surprised. "You heard about the letter? How?"

"What letter?" Eridis asked curiously.

The Murgo prince glanced over at Eridis then backed at Sithli. When he saw the same confusion mirrored on her face as well, he smiled. "Come down to the throne room and you'll see."

Obediently and driven by curiosity, Sithli and Eridis followed Urgar from the study and through the long corridors of the palace down to the throne room. Sithli heard the occupants of the room before she saw them. From down the hall she caught the whip of a voice, raised in anger, demand, "Just what is the meaning of this Zakath?"

The voice was entirely unfamiliar, but it contained the rasp of a Murgo accent. Although his voice was of considerably lower volume, she could still hear her father reply, "Calm yourself Urgit." And the sound of Murgo King's name, Sithli's head snapped around and she turned to stare at Urgar. Her friend was grinning broadly, looking enormously pleased with himself. A bit too pleased.

"What. Did you. _Do_?" Sithli demanded, enunciating each word with deliberate care.

If possible, Urgar's smile became even more satisfied and entirely puckish. "I told you I sent a letter to my father."

"What did the letter _say_?" Sithli asked, at the same time that from inside the throne room, the Murgo King boomed,

"You hold my son hostage and demand that I be _calm_? Age apparently hasn't tempered your nerve." Flatly, the Emperor of Mallorea replied "But I see it's increased yours."

Sithli was merely gaping at Urgar in astonishment. "You told your father we were holding you _hostage_?"

Whistling a short tune to himself, Urgar shoved at the throne room door and it swung open. All eyes swung towards them immediately. Inside the chamber, Sithli's parents sat atop the dais. Standing before it was a short man, with a long pronounced nose. His shoulders were rigid and tense and atop his head was seated a gold crown. The woman beside him was slim, beautiful, and had her sleek hair hung down the line of her back like a dark wave of midnight. She too wore the emblem of state atop her head and although she was visible more composed than the man she stood next to, there was a combative air to her stance. They were the monarchs of Cthl Murgos—King Urgit and Queen Prala, Urgar's parents. And both of them swiveled, turning to stare in surprise as their son entered the throne room, striking a casual pose in the doorway.

"Rumors of my mortal peril," Urgar said into the silence that had descended in the chamber, "may have been greatly exaggerated."

King Urgit's face turned red "You… you…" he spluttered. Queen Prala was more composed. She gave her son an icy look, eyes narrowing and asked, "What's going on Urgar?"

Urgar smiled affectionately at his mother, then turned to regard Emperor Zakath. "I hope you'll forgive my father, your imperial majesty. I may have misinformed him somewhat." Zakath lifted an eyebrow and Urgar turned back to his parents. "There _is_ a small matter of life and death in the balance, so don't be too disappointed. It just has nothing to do with his imperial highness here. You see father, all the tales of adventure and prophecy you told me growing up went a bit to my head and, wouldn't you guess it, I managed to get myself embroiled in an epic quest of my own."

"Urgar," King Urgit said in a level tone that begged for patience, "if you don't start speaking clearly, you really will end up in a dungeon. _Mine._"

Sithli decided to step in at that point. Jabbing her elbow sharply into the Murgo prince's side, she pushed past him through the door way and into plain view. Politely, she curtsied to the Murgo king and queen. King Urgit was a wiry man, lacking the muscular build of most murgos, but instead was lean and toned much like his son. He wasn't a very tall man and he had a long, defined nose set beneath his eyes. Queen Prala was beautiful, her rich hair as black as Urgar's and coiled up behind a gold crown set with rubies. Her angular eyes were dark, but alight with proud emotion, though they had narrowed dangerously on her son.

"Your majesties," Sithli said, "I'm Imperial Princess Sithli." She didn't bother extolling on her long list of titles and instead gestured towards Eridis who had also stepped into the throne room, "This is Dame Eridis of Dal Zerba. We were both classmates and close friends of Crown Prince Urgar at the University of Melcena."

"_Friends_?" King Urgit echoed in astonished disbelief, glancing over his shoulder at Zakath.

The Emperor of Mallorea shrugged, blank faced. "Your guess is as good as mine, Urgit." Zakath said coolly.

"I'm not fully aware of the contents of the letter that Urgar sent you. I had thought he would have explained the situation, but it appears I was wrong." Sithli turned her head to give Urgar a meaningful glare.

Urgar smiled at her, unphased by the look. "If the Manners Mistress saw you looking at me like that, she'd warn you that your face might get stuck that way."

"You're as troublesome as Nathalie," Sithli retorted. "We should take away your speaking privileges too."

"As if that would stop him," Eridis observed with a straight face.

"And deprive you both of my urbane wit? I wouldn't dare. Besides it turned out much better than Nathalie's adventure. No sailors, no tavern sword fight, and Sithli hasn't thrown a single knife."

"Yet," Sithli corrected.

"You see, father," Urgar spoke in a cavalier tone, artfully turning one wrist. "I got so enthralled by those stories you and mother told me about your youth, that I decided to get involved in a grand adventure of my own. And wouldn't you know it, my ambitions just happened to coincide most timely with Her Imperial Highness' discovery of a prophetic novel. Admittedly I got slightly waylaid at one point by a sorceress who wouldn't take no for an answer." Urgar paused to roll his eyes expansively. "Women."

"Why _are_we friends with him?" Eridis inquired of Sithli.

"I can't quite remember at the moment," Sithli answered.

"I thought there weren't supposed to be any more prophecies," Queen Prala spoke, a frown creasing her face.

"Indeed not," Cyradis replied in her rich, soft voice. "The division of the universe and the repair of that great and terrible Accident was all completed with The Choice and the ascension of Eriond to his rightful place as a god. And yet, what my daughter has told me cannot be dismissed. I have looked upon the prophecy of which Prince Urgar speaks and I to the best of my ability I have confirmed it as authentic."

"Where is this…prophecy, now?" Urgit asked, his irritation and confusion having given way to curiosity.

"It's in Her Imperial Highness' keeping," Urgar explained to his father. "We decided she would be best to hang on to it, since she's the only one who can see those shadowy friends of hers."

"Shadowy friends?"

"It gets a bit complex." Urgar shrugged slightly. "I'll explain it to you in full later. At the moment however, we need to make plans to sail to Riva. Quickly. I sort of thought you should be along for that."

Urgit glowered at his son. "We are going to have a very long talk about this, later." Urgar bowed deeply to his father and then the King of the Murgos turned to look at the Emperor of Mallorea, who was watching him closely. The set of his features was still somewhat bemused, but his voice didn't waver as he asked "Riva?"

"Alright, Urgar." Sithli said, as soon as they were away from the throne room and heading back down the high ceilinged corridors of the palace, leaving their parents to hash out the plans for the trip to Aloria. "Just exactly what was all that about?"

"All what?" Urgar inquired innocently.

"Don't play stupid with me." Her tone was short. "Telling your father we were holding you _hostage_. Your deliberate provocation and flippancy. What was the purpose of all of that?"

Urgar sighed heavily. "There's been an overwhelming tension between my father and your father for decades. With the first several of them spent with your father desperately wanting to kill mine and mine in abject terror of yours, to be perfectly blunt. That's not very sound ground for beginning a collaboration."

"Ah," Eridis murmured in sudden comprehension.

Sithli, however, did not feel similarly enlightened. "But an accusation of kidnapping is?"

"My father is not the bravest of men. Zakath knows that. It's no secret that the King of the Murgos has been called a coward throughout the years. I needed to make a point. That when there's something significant on the line—say, the well being of his only son, the fate of the world, that sort of thing—he can, and will bring his courage and resolve to bear."

"You deliberately got him angry so he would stand up to my father," Sithli said, understanding dawning. "So that my father would respect him."

"We may be working rather closely for something very important. Life would be easier if we all get along. And it's very hard to be on good terms with someone you have no regard for."

"Even without your machination, I don't think there was much risk of Sithli's father stabbing yours while we're out at sea." Eridis interjected. "If nothing else, wouldn't the god Eriond prevent it?"

"Not while he's sequestered with the priesthood he couldn't." Urgar replied. He glanced over at Sithli. "Has anyone been sent to notify him of what's going on?"

"Father sent a messenger yesterday. I don't think we're going to wait however. We're pressed for time and Eriond has ways of catching up with us when he needs to."

"He is a god," Eridis said, academic inquisitiveness in her tone. "Couldn't you just summon him with prayer?"

"Eriond is still a very new god," Sithli answered. "And he has a good portion of Angarak praying to him now. I'm not sure how well that would work and we wouldn't want to confuse things. It doesn't hurt to do it the conventional As long as he makes it to Riva."

"I can't say I don't prefer a sea voyage devoid of godly accompaniment," Urgar remarked.

"He's your god too, you know." Eridis remarked.

"I know. That's one of the main reasons why he makes me so uncomfortable."

Despite still being irritated by Urgar's secret machinations, Sithli grudgingly had to admit that they may very well have been effective. At the very least, it had proved unnecessary to remove the sharp cutlery from the dinner table that evening when the imperial family of Mallorea dinned together with the royal family to Cthol Murgos. She had, admittedly, been resolved to follow the dinner conversation rather closely as she made her way down to the dinning hall that evening. She was confident she'd have an ally in Eridis, at the very least. With the exception of her short mood during their travelling, Eridis was always the soul of good manners and far outstripped her when it came to patience and diplomacy. Urgar…well she was never entirely sure what Urgar was going to do.

Her trust in Eridis was well placed. At the table her sedate friend, with the most animation she'd shown since they'd left Melcena, applied herself to sustaining general conversation. She steadfastly addressed the two sets of Angarak monarchs with a comfortable self-composure, Sithli imagined was a combination of her natural maturity and all that time she had spend in close collaboration with the proctors at the university. The scholars of Melcena might not have titles, but those who had obtained tenure could be as intimidating as any emperor. Without the hint of self consciousness, Eridis confided to the table at large that she did not find the eastern study intolerably red. She made observations on the weather, the architecture of the city of Mal Zeth, and the novels of Goron III.

Sithli listened slightly awed by so much enthusiasm. She knew Eridis did not truly believe the novels of Goron III to be satirical social documents. She wondered how genuine the rest of her opinions were. After he had finished his cutlet, her father joined Eridis in conversation. He already knew all there was to know about Urgar and his family. Now it seemed he wanted to know about Sithli's other companion.

"I believe, Dame Eridis," Zakath said, "you mentioned you were from Dalasia?"

"Dal Zerba, to be specific, your majesty." Eridis confirmed with a smile. "We're a fair sized port city."

"And your parents?" The Emperor of Mallorea continued. "Urgit and I have dealt with this kind of absurdity before, so when you come to us talking of obscure prophecies and shadowy visitors we have our own experiences as a buffer to skepticism. But I don't suppose yours are similarly indoctrinated."

"_Father._" Sithli said, sharply. His question was candid enough to border on rude.

He turned to look at her, face impassive. "It is a fair question, daughter." He said. "I've already been accused of kidnap once today. I don't want to have to worry about a Dalasian family beating down my door, complaining that I've abducted their daughter." He sent a pointed look at Urgar.

The Murgo prince grinned. "I do apologize again, your imperial majesty. Sometimes my creativity runs away with me. I've already been berated at length for it, I assure you."

"Not lengthily enough." Queen Prala said.

"On the upside, I can never claim that you and father don't love me."

"You're my only son," The Murgo king replied, picking up his wine glass. He took a drink from it and then added. "If something happens to you, I don't have a back up."

Sithli couldn't help the peal of laughter that burst from her.

Urgar sighed tragically. "No one appreciates me."

"You brought it all on yourself," Sithli said smugly. "If I were His Royal Majesty, I'd have disowned you on the spot."

Urgar gave her an innocent look. "Who was it, who didn't want to send a letter of her arrival to her father for the sake of….what was that phrase you used?" He ignored the sound of Sithli choking on the piece of quail she'd been chewing. "Keep him on his toes?"

"Oh, really?" Zakath said, giving his daughter a stern look.

Sithli glared across the table at Urgar. "Traitor." And then to the table, "Weren't we Eridis' abduction?" She didn't bother trying to mask her change of subject with subtlety, though she did give her friend an apologetic look.

"It hardly counts as an abduction, since I was the one who insisted on coming along." Eridis replied, deftly taking her return to the center of discourse is stride.

"And your family didn't object?" Urgar's mother asked.

"I wasn't obliged to go into too much detail, your majesty." Eridis said. "My parents passed away many years ago. I was placed in the care of my mother's sister and her husband, however we were never especially close. I did send them word that I would be leaving my residence at the University. But I don't think that they're likely to raise protest."

"Are you saying that your aunt and uncle are unconcerned about your well being?" Zakath asked.

"No, your majesty. My aunt and uncle have never done anything but right by me. We're a merchant family, though not a particularly prosperous one, but nonetheless when I asked to be enrolled in the University, my uncle paid my tuition. I have nothing but gratitude towards them. But they have children of their own to concern themselves with and they're content to let me live my life as I choose to." She paused and then added. "I don't think skepticism would have been much of a problem, at any rate. We are Dals, after all."

"I don't think I follow that," King Urgar said.

"The Dals art closely acquainted with prophecy, King Urgar," Cyradis said in her gentle voice. "It hath been part of our culture even since the beginning of the Age of Prophecy itself."

With a start Sithli remembered that her mother, like Eridis, was also a Dalasian. Though the people of Kell were somewhat different than general Dalasians, they were still none the less of the same people. Reflecting on it now Sithli realized that Eridis and her mother were quite similar in their serene disposition, patient calm, and tranquil acceptance of the preternatural. If she looked closely, she imagined she could even pick out certain similarities in the structure of their features. The shape of their eyes was very similar. And the slim, petite shape of their noses.

"And Sithli, it seems, has inherited her mother's propension for becoming enveloped in prophecy it seems," the Emperor of Mallorea said, glancing over at his daughter.

Sithli gave him a seraphic smile. "Girls are supposed to take after their mothers."

"What's my excuse?" Urgar wondered aloud.

"You don't have one," Urgit gruffly informed him.

"That was badly planned of me."

"Have you ever been to Aloria, Dame Eridis?" Queen Prala asked, disrupting the banter.

Eridis smiled at her. "No, your majesty. I've never been further than Karanda. We'll be setting sail in the morning, I presume?"

"Come hell, high water, or conjured sea monster," Urgar said and stole an artichoke from Sithli's plate.

**- END PART THREE -**


	26. Chapter Twenty Six: Home Coming

**THE REQUIEM: THE WORLD IN A DOWNWARD TILT  
**_PART FOUR: ALORIA_

**Chapter Twenty Six: Home Coming**

The heavy rains that typically marked early spring in that part of the world had made seafaring hard and the journey towards Riva was far slower than Geran would have liked. Their captain was a Sendarian and thus by nature more careful and economical a sailor than the Cherek seamen that Geran was accustomed to. Although the captain wouldn't be moved on his solid dedication to caution in sailing, he nonetheless did listen to many of Geran's suggestions without being too offended by them. Geran was unconsciously grateful that monitoring the progression of their journey and the activity of the ship's crew kept him from being too anxious and from dwelling too much on the news of his mother's condition.

Alvor, however, had not been coping with the journey nearly so well. The Tolnedran nobleman had spent the first day of sea travel being noisily and miserably seasick. As well as the day after that. And the day after. In fact, Alvor had been seasick just about every single day thus far, typically starting each day by emptying the contents of his stomach over the side of the railing into the churning waters of The Great Western Sea.

"This is a nightmare." Alvor remarked that morning an hour after his stomach had finally ceased rebelling and he'd retreated to his cabin to rest with a cool cloth over his face. His complexion was very pale and had a sickly, grayish undercast to it.

"Have you really never been on a ship before?" Geran asked his miserable friend.

"I've been on the barges that travel along the river several times," Alvor replied. "But on a ship out at sea—no. I don't have many reasons to travel by sea. Before I met you. I seem to be doing a lot of things I never thought I'd do, before I met you."

"Like being kidnapped?" Geran proposed.

"That." Alvor agreed. He peeled back the cloth over his face to pin Geran with his level gaze. "You seem in more composed spirits. You've been maddeningly antsy the whole voyage. And if I had time to notice it between being horrendously ill, that says a lot."

"It's probably the fact that we're finally so close. Captain Arenor is a good man, but he believes in slow and steady. _Very_ slow. I was almost ready to throw my legs over the railing into the water and start kicking."

"That would have made two of us. I've contemplated chucking myself overboard several times."

"Cheer up," Geran said encouragingly, drawing back the curtain covering one of the portholes so he could peer out. From up on deck there was the sound of heavy pounding and falling of booted steps. "We've entered the Sea of the Winds now and you can almost see the coastline. We should be in Riva in just a few hours."

"Cheer is not something I practice at my best of times," Alvor replied dryly. "I can assure you it won't be a feature of one of my worst. If I had known it was going to be this awful I'd have stayed in Tolnedra. I don't even want to think about how I'll manage the return journey."

"You're welcome to become a permanent Rivan citizen. Though I doubt you'll want to. Riva is practically the complete opposite of Tolnedra. Then again, who knows; you mind find you like snow. And hail."

Alvor gave Geran a sour look. "I find you less likable when you're in a good humor. Where's that wolf of yours? I think he'd be preferable company."

The Tolnedra man's ability to get along with Wolf had been one of the many aspects which had endeared Alvor to him from the start. Alvor had been strangely comfortable around the wild animal practically from the start, even after he'd confirmed that Wolf was more than just a very large dog. Panicking or exhausting himself with worry was something that his friend simply never seemed to do. Everything that happened was addressed with that stoic pragmatism. Although, admittedly, Alvor's infallible level headedness could get cloying at times when Geran was feeling more emotional, for the most part he appreciated his friend as a calming influence.

Before he could explain that Wolf was above deck, disliking the closed in stuffiness of the lower cabins, Alvor suddenly burst out "For the love of Nedra, must they make all that noise?"

Geran glanced towards the rough shorn roof of the cabin. The amount of slamming and shouting had increased dramatically. Frowning quizzically, he glanced out the port hole again before turning towards the door. "I'm going to go up and see what's going on."

Alvor's response was unintelligible grunt as he dipped the cloth that had been covering his face in a basin of cool water and returned it to his forehead. Geran closed the door as gingerly as possible as he exited, before heading up the narrow set of the steps to the top deck.

The sky was a leaden gray that day, threatening rain though in places, patches of deep blue peeked through the otherwise thick clouds, casting splotches of light on the murky waves of the Sea of the Winds. The day was brisk and the balmy sea air blew cool across the ship. The deck was bustling with activity as the Sendarian crew moved with theirs usually quick efficiency in manning the vessel. Geran, however, who had always been instilled with a fascination of ships from his earlier boyhood by his father and his Uncle Durnik, didn't pause to observe the handiwork of the skilled crew. Instead, his attention was immediately drawn to the fact that another vessel had been drawn up alongside theirs. Geran recognized the ship immediately as a Cherek boat. Not just any—one of Captain Greldik's.

"Your highness," the ship captain greeted as he caught sight of Geran. Captain Arenor was a man in his early forties, broad shouldered and sturdy like most Sendarian men. He had a weathered, clean shaven face, dark brown hair, and constantly wore an expression of heavy gravitas. He stood near the edge of a gang plank that linked his ship to the one that drifted in the water beside it. "I was just about to send someone down to fetch you."

"What is it, Captain?" Geran inquired.

"There's a young man here. Says the Citadel sent him down to greet you." The captain stepped aside then and Geran saw that he wasn't alone.

The man with Arenor was tall and very lean and looked to be just a couple of years younger than Geran. He had a pair of eyes that were practically golden in color, set in a face so startlingly beautiful that it was almost feminine. His hair blue-black hair was long, lustrous, and pulled partially into a knot to keep the wind from whipping it into his face. He was dressed smartly in a uniform of silver and dark blue, so crisp and neat that even Alvor, with his ever impeccable taste, would have paused to admire. Wolf was seated on his haunches at the young man's feet, tail wagging in a greeting, and the man had crouched down to scratch the creature behind his ears. When he caught sight of the Rivan prince however, he rose to his feet and his perfect face broke into a dazzling grin that would have melted a glacier.

"Ho, cousin!" The man greeted.

"Danor?" Geran said in surprise, as the beaming young man caught him up in a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"I came up with mother from The Vale," his cousin explained, releasing him. "She and father are at The Citadel now with Uncle Garion and Aunt Ce'Nedra. They wanted someone to come down and intercept you, so I volunteered."

"Is she alright," Geran asked quickly. "My mother."

Danor's warm smile vanished into apologetic sobriety. "Not very. Mother's been doing her best and she hasn't gotten noticeably worst, but she hasn't gotten any better either." He glanced at the sailors milling around nearby and took Geran's arm gently. "Let's move down the deck a ways. No need to distract these gentlemen from their work with our talk."

Geran led his cousin draw him out of ear shot of the Sendarian crew, towards the rear of the deck where the open sea they'd come through stretched back out to touch the horizon. Overhead a flock of seabirds spread their wings, sailing noisily over the waters.

"Just what happened, Danor?" The Rivan prince asked as he and his cousin leaned against the ship's railing. "The letter they sent to Tol Honeth was brief. It didn't explain anything."

"Initially no one even realized anything was wrong with her. When she started getting ill after meals, the physicians all assumed it was just because she was pregnant. Mother says it's unusual for a women in her sixth month to get sick, but its' not unheard of. But then one morning, she threw up blood. After that, those physicians aren't sure what happened. She started having stomach pains and—I'm sorry Geran—she ended up having a miscarriage. The baby died."

The sharp stab of pain that Geran felt was like the thrust from the sword. For his mother. For the younger sister he'd never get to meet, who had never even had the opportunity to live at all. He couldn't even begin to imagine how his parents must have felt.

"What happened after that?"

"Aunt Ce'Nedra was inconsolable. She was still weak from the miscarriage and she stayed in bed all the time. She had trouble sleeping. Sometimes little Xarell or Beldaran could coax her to eat, but she lost her appetite for the most part. Uncle Garion said it was a lot like how she behaved back when you were abducted by Zandramas as a baby. Everyone thought her bad health was just from melancholy. But then she started coughing up blood. That's when they decided to send you a letter calling you home."

"How has she been since then?" Geran pressed.

Danor shook his head sadly. "No change. She's still got a bad a cough and is ill often. She's very weak and can barely get out of bed. Mother's been making her broths and light food her stomach can handle and she's been taking a medicine daily to help replenish her blood supply. But there's been no improvement." Danor spread his hand helplessly. "That's the best that I can tell you, Geran. Mother can give you a more thorough explanation once we get to the citadel."

Geran felt a heavy anxiety settle into his stomach. He'd been so sure that whatever was wrong with his mother, his Aunt Pol could easily fix. But what if she couldn't? What if whatever was wrong with his mother was beyond the skill of both his aunt's medicinal knowledge and sorcery to fix? But that…that couldn't honestly happen. His mother was still relatively young, just barely into her forties. And the last time Geran had seen her, before leaving for Tol Honeth, she'd been as energetic and full of life as ever.

He could clearly remember his mother's figure as she and his father saw him off on the ship. Her rich, flame red curls coiled around the crown of the Rivan Queen, with the sea air tugging at the folds of his turquoise gown. They'd both been huffy with each other at the time-Geran at her for coming up with the idea of sending him to Tol Honeth, and she at him for his irritable attitude. Ironically, rather than any of his sisters, it was he who had taken after Ce'Nedra the most. True, Geran liked to think he had his father's sensibility, but he'd almost surely inherited his temper, his stubbornness, and his ingenuity from his mother.

Two peas in a pod, while he and Ce'Nedra had clashed often because of their similarities, Geran had always been close to his mother. The thought of something happening to her filled him with dread.

Geran felt something cold touch the side of his hand, and glanced down to see Wolf wedging his head beneath Geran's fingers in concern. Danor reached out and put a comforting hand on Geran's shoulder. "Don't worry. It's true she hasn't improved, but she hasn't worsened either. And mother's only been tending her for a short while yet. She'll figure out what's wrong. If she can slow its progression, then she can heal it I'm sure."

Geran looked up and gave his cousin a grateful smile, which Danor returned. He was right. And there was no use sinking into depression now. Aunt Pol would tell him more once they landed on Riva. And he'd be no good at all if he delved into pessimism now. The weather was finally making good on the promise made by the cloudy sky and a light drizzle had started to fall across the deck. He clapped his cousin on the back fondly.

"Let's go below. It's almost lunch time and I've brought a friend back with me from Tol Honeth. I should probably see if he feels up for a bit of a meal."

* * *

Alvor was in slightly better spirits when Geran returned below deck again, perhaps because the noise from the deck above had quitted some. He was well enough to agree to a bit of lunch when Geran proposed it and the three of them, with Wolf following behind, headed to the mess cabin. Once they had set down to eat, Geran introduced Alvor to his cousin.

Geran wondered what Danor and Alvor would make of each other. Alvor's one distinguished feature was his voice, deep and musical. To the uninformed observer, Alvor was easily over-looked. His usual expression was one of polite distance, replaced only at rare moments with one of interest keen to the point of intimidation. He was several inches shorter than Danor, his build, his coloring, and even his neatly clipped mustache all average. Danor, on the other hand, was utterly unforgettable. It wasn't just his impossible good looks, it was his open and friendly expression as well and his natural charm. His cousin was charismatic to a fault and had a jovial humor. Sometimes too jovial. Danor was the type who took very little in life too seriously-or at least seemed not to and was also something of a flirt. His visits to Riva always left hordes of swooning ladies though the streets. All things considered, the two men couldn't have been more different. If Alvor was going to treat Danor with the same callousness he did most extroverts and Danor Alvor with his customary puckish charm, Geran didn't want to miss a moment of it.

"Geran's mentioned his cousins in passing before," Alvor was saying to Danor. "Are you the apothecary or the one who builds things?"

"The apothecary," Danor replied pleasantly. "The other is my brother, Garrik."

"Is Garrik at the Citadel?" Geran asked.

"He's still in the Vale. You know Gar" Danor said with a small smile. "I enjoy travelling, but he's always been a homebody. Trying to tear him away from his workroom is like trying to get fish to walk out of the sea."

"I thought twins were supposed to be similar," Alvor suggested.

"That's a myth," Danor answered. "Gar and I don't even look alike, really."

"Fraternal twins, then?" Alvor's gaze was settled on the apple he was currently into eighths with a small paring knife. "Are you a sorcerer?"

"_Alvor_." Geran said, surprised at the abrupt question. Though he really should not have been. This was Alvor, after all, and abrupt was his way of life.

His friend glanced up at him, lifting an eyebrow. "What? Is it like asking a plump woman if she's pregnant?"

Danor looked amused. "I thought Tolnedrans were supposed to staunchly avoid any mention of the unnatural."

"I've already gotten into trouble over the issue; I might as well use the experience to indulge my curiosity."

"Trouble?" Danor repeated curiously, glancing over at Geran.

"Alvor was involved in a plot to implicate the Horbite family as magic practitioners for the purpose of blackmailing them into assassinating Uncle Varana," Geran explained.

"Unsuccessfully, I hope."

"Thanks to Geran. Hero of the empire."

"Following in Uncle Garion's footsteps and saving the world already," Danor said laughter in his voice.

"I wouldn't really call Tolnedra 'the world'," Geran protested.

"That's only because you're not Tolnedran," Alvor rejoined. "We're the center of it, you know." He glanced at Danor again, "but back to my inquiry."

"Not a sorcerer" Danor revealed, with mock apology in his tone. "Actually for the most part I've been studying sciences. Pharmacy. Compounds. Chemistry."

A gleam of interest appeared in Alvor's eye. Geran realized belated that he had completely forgotten the common trait that his friend and his cousin shared, which was rather deeply rooted in both men. They were both academics. Geran resisted the urge to groan, fearing he might soon find himself caught in the middle of an intellectual discussion that would, no doubt, be outside the scope of both his understanding and his interests. He wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but simply put he just was not a scholar and never would be.

"Very interesting," Alvor said sincerely. "The War College ignores the sciences, for the most part. Engineering is the lone exception."

"That's Garrik's area of expertise," Danor said. "He's actually been working with Tolnedra steam technology to devise ways of travel. He hates sailing."

"I can sympathize." Alvor said with feeling. "And I wish him the greatest of success. How is he faring?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Ever since he heard about Makian's steam car last winter talking to him has been impossible."

"I remember Makian. He was a lecturer at the college. Tiresome man who use to hold the most boring discussion on siege engines. Left the college after he came up with the steam car idea. If it's not about improved methods of fighting they don't much care about it at the Imperial War College. The University of Melecena is more diverse in that respect—at least until they figure out a way to turn chemicals into useful method of war fare."

"Now," Danor said, leaning against the edge of the table "we might want to talk about that."

This time, Geran gave in to the urge to groan in dismay.


End file.
